If The Damned Gave Us A Roadmap
by stumacher
Summary: In which it is revealed that Randy has fathered a son who is not Stan, that South Park teens love to party, and that sometimes there's a lot more happening under your nose than you might imagine.
1. I Came As a Rat

****Just as a brief explanation, I got the idea to write this after seeing a submission someone had sent to a South Park confessions Tumblr. They basically said they'd always thought Randy had fathered Craig as well as Stan because he was the only adult with black hair. And I can never resist any form of incest. So, here we are. Every chapter title will be the song title of a Modest Mouse song. Just because I feel they all fit really nicely with what I have planned. The second song will be one also based on the chapter at hand, but not by Modest Mouse. If you look up the lyrics, they should always at least make a little bit of sense, hopefully.

**Modest Mouse track of the chapter** (based on chapter title)**:** "I Came As A Rat"

**Otherwise: **"Colours" by Grouplove

* * *

><p>"Stan, wake up. For fuck's sake, Mom and Dad are at it again." Stan felt someone prodding his shoulder, hard and persistently.<p>

"I'm sleeping - get out." Stan ducked his head under his pillow and groaned, gritting his teeth. As he began to wake up, his hearing came back full force. He could still tell, from under his pillow, that his Mom was flinging more dishes around and his Dad was swearing up a storm.

"I'm serious, dicklicker. This is worse than usual." Shelley punched him in his forearm, emphasizing her frustrations.

From downstairs, something smashed audibly, probably flung into a wall. Stan rolled out of bed, trying to fix his socks, while Shelley stared down at him angrily. He ignored her presence in order to massage his pounding temples. Fucking hangovers.

"Well, do _something_, you pussy."

"Why can't you?" Stan let his foot pull his sheets down across the floor, knocking over a bowl of old cereal in the process. Another plate hit the wall and Stan cursed. "Fucking hell, it's too early for this."

"It's noon."

"It is?" Stan squinted past his open windows, breeze coming in strongly for only September. Well, that was Colorado, what else could you expect?

Ever since he was ten, he made sure to drink at least enough on the weekends so that school days didn't feel how he felt like now. But he shouldn't complain, he choose to drink, so he choose to get hungover. Although he knew his mom was aware, they both still pretended Randy was the only one who came home drunk at night, tripping over his own feet.

"I assume you were sober enough last night to bring cereal upstairs and leave dirt all of the downstairs carpet, but not sober enough to set an alarm."

"An alarm for what?"

Shelley sighed, turning around so her back faced Stan, crossing her arms. "Church, dipshit."

"Oh, fuck."

"Dad came home this morning drunk, though, so Mom didn't even remember she forgot to set an alarm."

"I'm sorry, Shelley." Stan stood up, lunging for his jeans. He pulled them hastily on over his briefs, tripping over the legs.

"Don't apologize for their stupidity."

He turned to face her, eyes closed. It was finally quiet downstairs and that was what made him the most nervous. "We should probably go down now."

"Put a shirt on first, Fabio."

Stan rolled his eyes, trying not to make it obvious that the spit lunged out from Shelley's braces had caught his nose. After her headgear had come off in middle school, she'd opted out of braces. By the time she was a freshmen in college, she decided to get braces after all, and now wore the almost invisible kind you could barely see.

He grabbed a tee shirt from his bed post on the way out the door and followed Shelley down the stairs.

"So, it's settled then," Sharon muttered. "You should pack your things."

Stan stopped short on the landing, fingers going up to the bridge of his nose to pinch it in frustration. Sharon had said similar things before without meaning them, but this tone was different. She made it all sound final, like there was no room for interpretation.

Shelley peered over Stan's shoulder from the step above him to get a look at Randy slumped over the kitchen table, arms resting close to pieces of broken glass. There was a pile of glass by one wall and another decorating the sink and it's surrounding counter. Sharon still held one coffee mug, soap running from it's edge to the floor because she held it by the handle, tipping down.

"Sharon-"

"Listen, we've been doing this for too long. I'm tired, Randy. Being in this house has felt like a job for years. I miss feeling like I have control over my own life."

"Sharon, for God's sake, the kids aren't going to-"

"Shelley's in college, Randy! And Stan's been more mature than you since he was in middle school! The kids aren't children anymore, they don't need protecting like they used to!"

Randy didn't say a word, just stared at Sharon until she backed away from him, moving towards Stan and Shelley. When she came up to them, she froze, mouth dropping in disappointment. "I need to get upstairs," She murmured, chin tipping towards the ground and voice cracking.

Shelley backed off right away, letting Sharon through, but Stan wasn't going to let her go that easily. "Mom," he called after her, "You can't just leave!"

He jogged up after her, coming to a skid at his parents' bedroom door frame, out of breath. "Don't leave us alone with him just because we're old enough to know what's going on."

Sharon had a suitcase out and was quickly pulling things off racks in the closet and tossing them onto the bed, only half of what she was throwing landing in the suitcase.

"I'm not leaving, sweetie. Your dad is." She sniffed loudly and continued trying to pack up the entire contents of Randy's side of the closet.

Stan's eyebrows knitted. "Then what's he supposed to do? He can't just live by himself, he'll never stop drinking! He'll end up homeless or something!"

"Honey, you and sister can stay here with me while your father looks for an apartment out of town."

"Out of town? How are we supposed to see him?" Stan walked up to the suitcase, trying to decide if he should help his mother pack up his father's plaid shirts and work pants or undo how far she'd gotten.

"Your father isn't fit to be a caretaker, no matter how old his children are. You and your sister shouldn't feel obligated to see him." Sharon pressed her hands on top of the clothes, unfolded and improperly stacked. Most of them wouldn't flatten, so she burst out in tears, hands reaching for the zipper anyway.

"Well, if I don't feel obligated, who will?"

"Stanley- sweetheart- he needs to get some professional help."

"Yeah, I heard there are some really well-trained psychiatrists living out in the streets with the other hobos."

"I can't be responsible for your father anymore, Stan."

"Then I'll go with him," Stan said. He pressed his lips together, waiting for his mother to forbid him. When she stared in silence, he got agitated.

He reached over, going for the zipper of the suitcase, but Sharon jumped away from him so quickly Stan could have sworn she thought he was going to hit her.

"Are you serious?" His voice sounded awful as the tears built up in the corners of his eyes. "I'm not Dad."

"Stan, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Don't." He zipped the suitcase, pulled it off of the bed, and dragged it down the stairs. Pulling his father out of the house with his hands carrying everything his father owned, Shelley watching from the living room window, Stan finally understood what his mother had been talking about. Control.

On the side of the street, trying to avoid Shelley's eyes in the window, Stan thought of who he could call to help that wouldn't make it awkward for his father. Not Kyle and his family, never Kenny and his, probably not Cartman and his mother.

He tapped his foot in worry on the concrete and dialed Mr. Mackey.

* * *

><p>"Stan, it's nice to see you. I can take that suitcase into the guest room, mm'kay?" Stan sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. Luckily he'd stopped crying before he'd gotten to Mr. Mackey's house, but he guessed his eyes were still red and he could feel his nose still running. Randy stood uncomfortably by the sofa, looking around the room and then flashing his eyes to the suitcase and back again.<p>

"Yeah," Stan replied.

"Don't be such a Negative Nancy, Stan. We can get your father back on his feet in no time, mm'kay?"

Stan sat himself down on the sofa, running the side of his thumb under his nose to wipe away the snot. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"Well, sure. Go grab yourself something from the fridge, but make sure you get something for your father too, mm'kay?" Mr. Mackey hauled the suitcase down the hall, the wheels catching the carpeting and squeaking all the way.

Stan got up and found the kitchen, the fridge neatly positioned between the counter holding the microwave and the counter holding the coffee maker. He dug around some of the cabinets for some booze, but only found cigarettes hidden with some extra light bulbs and household tools in a draw by the coffee maker. Taking two out from the half used up pack, he shoved them down into his briefs and brought back a banana from the fridge for his dad.

He called his mother the next morning, waking up in bed with his dad next to him in Mr. Mackey's guest bedroom. He took his phone out from the bedside table and made his way down the hall before peering into Mr. Mackey's bedroom. Realizing that since school was starting soon and the teachers of the middle school were probably getting ready all this week on normal weekday times, he ambled down to the front door.

He lit up outside the house, in the backyard, sitting himself down by the garden his old guidance counselor must have grown. As he toyed with some of the plants, he puffed on one of the stolen cigarettes, wondering how he was going to find someplace for himself and his father to stay. He would at least have to call his mother soon to figure out if he could stop by his house- couldn't bare to consider calling it his "old house"- to pick up some clothes and hopefully pack up some of his hidden booze.

Shelley answered by the third ring. "Can you get Mom?" He asked, exhaling smoke into the receiving end. Sharon must have been close, because it only took a second for the phone to make it's way to her.

"Hey, I need to pack up some clothes."

"Stanley, listen. You should come home. Your father can-"

"I'm going to come and pick up some clothes and then I'm coming back here and I'm going to help dad find an apartment for us."

Sharon left the door unlocked, so he got in and wasn't bombarded by his mother's pleads to stay and leave his father unattended at Mr. Mackey's house. It would've been a terrible idea, regardless of the fact that there was no liquor in the house for Randy to get into. He hated to add fuel to his motherr's fire, but Stan was treating his father like a dog that couldn't be trusted alone at home.

Stan packed up his favorite shirts- all the sweaters and long-sleeved shirts he could find, because it'd be winter soon. Winter always started early in South Park. He dug out his clean jeans from his closet floor and packed up his boots. Then, shampoo and conditioner. Then, he pulled out his vodka from under piles of his socks and underwear from his draw and stuffed it inside the bottom of his bag. He fished under his mattress for his cigarettes and stealthily shoved them into a pair of socks also at the bottom of his bag.

"Honey," Sharon asked, only her face visible in between the door and door frame. She opened it fully and came into the room just in time for Stan to finish packing. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"That depends. Are you going to clarify why this happened or just tell me that I should leave Dad alone to become homeless?"

Sharon sighed deeply, sitting down on Stan's bed. "Your father has a past that I used to be able to forget about, but has recently...sprung back up. I can't lie to you; I loved your father for a long time, but I just don't anymore. He cheated on me years ago when I was able to look past it, but also recently, which I just can't look past now."

Stan kept his eyes fixed on the wall behind his mother's head. "He was probably drunk." He couldn't see why he was defending his father exactly, but he couldn't seem to help it.

Sharon just nodded, resting her hands on his duffle bag and pursing her lips. "I don't mean to tell you this to coerce you to live at home with your sister and I, but you're old enough and you should know anyway." She paused for a minute, holding her breath in before finally letting herself exhale loudly. "There's a boy in your grade who's your half-brother, Stanley. Thomas Tucker's wife, who I used to be friends with, slept with your father before your father and I were dating years ago."

Dumbfounded, Stan sat on the edge of his bed, tightly holding it with both hands. "Wait, you're saying- you mean that-"

"Stanley, Craig Tucker is your half-brother."

"You can't be serious." Stan almost collapsed onto his bed as he tried to process everything. The room began to spin, his bedroom walls running together to form one large mass of clouds.

"Honey, I wouldn't lie about this." She moved to put her hand on Stan's, but he was already standing up, pacing.

"Holy shit."

"Stan, just-"

"Holy shit!" He shook his head, feet banging into his closet door every time he turned. "This isn't happening."

Sharon stood up, walking over to her son to place her hands firmly on his shoulders. "The family doesn't know, not even her husband, so you can't say anything. Not to any of them, not to anyone else, not even to Kyle."

Stan's eyes widened. "You're serious."

"I know this is probably difficult to process, but-"

"I need a smoke." He rushed past his mother to his bag, where he proceeded to grab his pack of cigarettes and fish out one, along with his lighter.

"Stanley!"

"Oh, relax! Like you haven't seen Dad do any worse."

Sharon pursed her lips again, sitting back down on the bed.

"Christ, was nobody ever going to tell me this? Did you think it wasn't important?" He puffed expertly, smoke coming out in waves and hitting Sharon in the face. She squinted through the smoke, exasperated.

He couldn't believe Craig fucking Tucker was related to him, _closely_ related to him even. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Fuck, Randy had fathered three kids, not two. How fucked up was that? And his mother and father had been hiding this from the rest of Craig's family for years, just sweeping it under the rug?

"Stanley, we both agreed it was for the best if_ no one _knew."

"That's nice of you. I'm glad you two could stop going at each other's throats for long enough to agree that it wasn't any of my business that I had a _brother_."

"Half-brother."

"Nobody knows? Not Craig, not his dad, not his sister?" Stan asked, flicking his cigarette so the ashes hit the carpet. Sharon looked on in disapproval, but said nothing.

"No. And you _cannot_, Stanley, _cannot_ tell them or anyone else. I don't care how much you trust them, they will tell somebody because people _talk_ in this town."

"Don't act like you know my friends! You barely even know anything about _me_ for Christ's sake!" Stan stopped pacing and shook his head angrily, heaving his duffle bag over his shoulder.

"Don't leave like this, Stan!" Sharon called, but Stan was already running down the stairs to the door.

When he got back to Mr. Mackey's house it was only early afternoon and the house was still empty apart from his father who was still out cold. The blankets were now only up to Randy's knees, his grimy pants getting the blue comforter speckled with dirt. His father's hair was matted across his forehead and his eyelashes didn't even flutter when Stan threw his bag on top of the blankets, taking a drag off of yet another cigarette that'd he chain-smoked all the way home. He was upset enough to not care if Mr. Mackey smelt the smoke in the house, but not upset enough to forget to replace the two of the cigarettes he'd stolen from the kitchen draw. Dropping himself on the sofa with a tuna sandwich he'd made with Mr. Mackey's food supply, he flipped open his phone and speed-dialed Kyle. Kyle answered on the second ring.

"Are you really telling me that Craig Tucker is your half-brother right now?" Kyle asked on the other end, obviously not taking matters seriously. "I mean, the same Craig Tucker who we dragged to Peru in the fourth grade? With the stupid little hamster and the need to flip everyone off every five seconds?"

"I think it was a guinea pig, actually."

"Stan, be serious. What are you going to do?"

"I can't do anything! Just because my family's gotten all fucked over by this doesn't mean Craig's should too. I mean, I don't hate the guy!" Stan took a huge bite from his sandwich and reconsidered the statement.

"Yes, you do!" Kyle exclaimed loudly. Stan winced, pulling the phone away from his ear a little. "He's in your Music class and he flips you off all the time!"

"How do you know that?" Stan didn't know why he even bothered to question Kyle on these kind of matters. He didn't remember telling Kyle, but then again, he knew loads of unimportant things about Kyle that he just seemed to remember after so many years of friendship. He didn't study Kyle, but he knew little things, like what side of the bed Kyle had to take on vacations and what condiments Kyle would utterly refuse when they ate out.

"You tell me everything, Stan."

"Jesus, alright. I don't like Craig, but so what?"

"So, either way you should tell him. Either you tell him because you hate him and want to see his family get screwed over or you tell him because you like him and want him to know the truth about his own...well, _existence_. I mean, his father isn't even his real father, that's serious."

"Why do you always have to be right, Kyle?"

"You've met my mother, it just runs in the genes."

"Your mother isn't always right; she's usually _wrong_," Stan argued.

"Yes, but she _thinks_ she's always right and that's the key."

"Kyle, what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"I dunno, man. What do you think you should do?"

"What do _you_ think I should do?"

"I think he should know. I mean, he's been in the same position as you've been in for years. He's known that something deeper is at hand, but he's never been able to figure it out because everyone is lying to him, right?"

"Goddamnit, Kyle."

"Sorry."

* * *

><p>Stan was feeling better by the weekend, more relaxed crawling out of bed on an early Sunday afternoon. It was noon when he got up, surprised to find himself alone in bed. The birds were chirping and he was warm in his sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt. Mr. Mackey's house was usually a lot colder than he was used to, never really noticing how hot his own house had been kept until he was living somewhere else.<p>

He found his father sitting with Mr. Mackey at the kitchen table, both eating pancakes covered in a shiton of syrup and whipped cream, Randy with both on his chin. Stan felt awkward walking over to them, but didn't know where else to go after coming out of the guest bedroom.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Mr. Mackey said cheerfully, dropping his fork in his plate to smooth over some of the stray hairs he had left that drooped into his line of vision. He had no under eye circles in his fifties, probably because he'd never taken a drink in his life and barely ever smoked. The pack of cigarettes had looked really old when Stan had taken them out, the carten more of a faded pink and gray than the usual firetruck red and bright white of Marlboros. Still, he had barely any hair and had been sporting a Donald Trump-like comb-over ever since Stan could remember. He supposed some people just aged more quickly than others.

"Hi," Stan replied, wincing into the ray of light spurting down from the windows. Randy looked up at him with a sorry attempt at a smile, mouth shiny with syrup. Stan grimaced and choose to lean against the fridge instead of joining them at the table, although his bare feet were getting cold on the tile floor.

"So, Dad-" He started to say, avoiding eye contact by staring down the oven.

"Stan, your Dad is gonnna go out today and find himself a place to stay-" Randy declared, voice low and serious, "A place hopefully where he doesn't have to depend on other people." It was probably the closest to a thanks Mr. Mackey would get from Stan's father, who would probably be drunk again by that evening. Stan knew this, but wouldn't dare voice it for fear of Randy getting an earlier start at the bar and neglecting to actually trying to find an apartment.

"Really?" Stan asked. "Cool. Um, I'm probably going to go to Kyle's or something, you know, figure out if we have the same classes for tomorrow." He knew his letter from the school, detailing his schedhule, would have already been delivered a few days ago. Although he hated the chance of speaking to his mom again so soon, especially after the last bombshell she'd dropped on him, he'd have to go past his old house to get to Kyle's anyway.

Wow, he'd actually said it. His old house.

"Shit." Stan was staring off into the distance, not paying attention to his surroundings.

"What was that, Stan?" Randy asked innocently.

"You shouldn't swear, Stan, mm'kay? Only bad kids swear."

Stan nodded with a forced smile and turned around so he could go back to the guest room and find something clean to wear before he barged into Kyle's house.

* * *

><p>Stan and Kyle were lounging on Kyle's bed comparing classes when he came up with the idea. Kyle was on his laptop, sitting cross-legged across from Stan, who was leaning against the headboard. They'd been avoiding discussing the recent news because Stan knew even Kyle had no idea how to fix it, which was new for Kyle. After all, Stan wasn't known for being the problem-solver within his group of friends.<p>

"Shit," Stan said suddenly. He was chewing on his thumb nail, deep in thought.

"What?" Kyle glanced up from the computer screen and bit his lip.

"Does he look like me?"

Kyle's forehead wrinkled. "What, Craig?"

"Yes, Craig. For fuck's sake, Kyle, why didn't anyone ever notice we were like...twins or something?" Hs eyes widened and he sat up straighter in bed, beginning to freak out.

"You're only half brothers!" Kyle exclaimed.

"No, I know that! I meant that we look exactly alike!" Stan grabbed at Kyle's laptop in frustration, but Kyle tugged it back in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

"Give me your laptop for a minute."

"Why?"

"Because I need to go on Facebook, Kyle."

"You hate Facebook. Now what the fuck do you mean you and Craig look exactly the same?"

Stan ignored him, frantically typing on the keyboard until he was logged in. He put the computer flat on the bed and then craned his neck down to squint his eyes at something.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, trying to peer over Stan's shoulder.

"C'mon, Kyle. Look at that! Shit, we could be twins!"

"Are you on Craig's Facebook profile?"

"...No."

"But that's Craig."

"...Yeah."

"With his hamster."

"...It's a guinea pig."

Kyle sighed in frustration and placed the laptop back on his lap, leaning in to study the picture. He sat staring for a full minute before glancing back at Stan and repeating the whole process again.

"Well?" Stan asked, chin resting in his palm.

"I mean, you guys don't look that similar, really."

"Kyle."

"So, yeah, you both have black hair, but so what?"

"I'm like the only other kid in South Park who have black hair."

"Yeah, but Stan, that's only because your Dad has black-"

"..."

"I'm sorry."

"Is that the only similarity you see?" Stan asked seriously, choosing to ignore the last comment.

"Basically, yeah."

"Basically?" Stan's eyebrows rose.

"Well, you both sort of have thick eyebrows. But that's not, like, a major thing."

"What the fuck, Kyle?" Stan asked quietly, dropping his head into Kyle's bedspread.

"Look- you guys look totally different. I mean, you have a smaller nose than him. Plus, Craig never shaves so he always has stubble." Kyle thought for a moment. "Although, your eye colors do look a little alike."

"Is that all?"

"Your eyes are blue and his are more green, I meant!"

Stan raised his hand up in the air so he could flip him off, not wanting to keep his head up after realizing it felt so much more comfortable down.

"Well, now you really look like Criag," Kyle said, clearly bemused. "From here I can only see the back of your head and with you flipping me off like-"

"Shut up, Kyle."

"Alright, alright. Do you want anything to drink? I'm going down for some soda."

"Yeah, you got any Arsenic?"

"That's hilarious."

"I try."

* * *

><p>A week later Randy had called before coming home - reassuring Stan he had good news and hadn't been out all day drinking. Stan had been awkwardly sitting on Mr. Mackey's couch with him watching Jeopardy. The past few nights this had been Stan's normal routine - trying to sit far enough from Mr. Mackey on the couch so that he wouldn't feel uncomfortable, but close enough to reach the Chex Mix in between them. Mr. Mackey would guess wrong answers more often than correct ones - and would proceed to swear under his breath almost every time. It frustrated Stan, like so many other things that adults did, how Mr. Mackey would tell Stan not to swear regardless of how he himself spoke. And he didn't want to hear that 'do as I say, not as I do' bullshit.<p>

When Randy's truck had pulled in, a far cry from the pristine Hybrid he'd once owned, Stan had hoped Randy had found a nice apartment for them. He hadn't been paying attention to Jeopardy, wondering whether or not it'd be a long drive from school and how many rooms there'd be. If it was far, would Kyle mind driving over? What if Kenny didn't have gas money?

Randy swung open Mr. Mackey's front door, walking in with a smile. "Good news, Stan. Let's go to the kitchen." He took off his jacket and whipped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, resting his hands over the back of it for stability. "So, I know what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking you found an apartment - something small, not anything too expensive." Stan walked over to the other side of the kitchen, originally set on finding something to eat from the fridge.

"Well," Randy began, "No. But I have better news." He paused, pursing his lips.

Stan immediately became concerned, because with Randy this could be something awful. He was probably going to say he had invested everything he had with a new company that some asshole had scammed him into joining. Or worse, had gone to see Sharon and convinced her to let them move back - Stan pleaded silently that that wouldn't be the case.

"What kind of news?" Stan asked tentatively, letting his arm rest on the kitchen counter beside the fridge.

"I finally called Elizabeth Tucker to let her know that your mother knows about our previous, um, dating-"

"Affair," Stan corrected.

Randy lowered his eyes. "Yes, well. I told her to be careful of letting her husband know because I figured Sharon would tell him just to mess with me."

Stan couldn't necessarily believe that wasn't in his mother's nature, because it kind of was. He nodded tensely, trying to calm himself down. It couldn't be anything that bad. After all, with everything he'd gone through just to keep his dad off the streets, what could get worse?

"But she told me he already knew and was kicking her out of the house!" Randy was grinning ear to ear and seemed to be expecting a congratulations.

Stan stared. "Why would that ever be a good thing?"

"Stan, now we have someone we can move in with to get us on our feet! And the best news is, that kid from your grade-"

"Oh, you mean your other son?" Stan asked with a blank expression.

Randy wisely choose to ignore this. "He'll be staying with us as well, so you'll have a friend your own age in the place we'll get!" He seemed genuinely excited about this, but this wasn't the kind of little thing Stan could just pass off to make Randy happy.

"You want to move in with the woman you secretely impregnated before you and her were both married to other people? Not to mention drag me and your other son - who you know nothing about - into this? And force the two of us to live together? And who do you expect to tell Mom that this is your plan?"

Randy froze. "Don't look at it like that, Stan. Listen, this could be good for us-"

"How, Dad?" Stan stood waiting. "What's the real reason you want to move somewhere with them?"

Randy didn't speak for a moment, staring off into the distance with a frown. "I - Stan, I understand if this means you want to move back in with your mother and sister-"

"What does?"

"Stan, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I never really lost contact with Elizabeth after all these years. I loved your mother so much when we were just married - I hadn't dated Elizabeth for very long before then. But I knew her boy was mine and I-" Randy stopped, turning his eyes to the kitchen table as his right hand made a loose fist on the back of the chair. "A few years back I couldn't take it anymore. I asked to see her and talk about him."

Stan waited patiently, leaning against the fridge for support.

"I didn't mean for it to happen-" Randy broke off, eyes glassing over. He looked ready to cry, but Stan was too afraid of what was coming next to say anything comforting. "We started seeing each other again. Things were so bad with your mother and Elizabeth wouldn't leave her husband, so I kept drinking and drinking." His voice quivered and he had to clear his throat. "I never meant to let you and Shelley see me like that, I didn't know what I was doing."

Stan nodded, too confused to speak at first. "That's - I mean, I'm sorry I just assumed you were drinking just to drink. But - you can't just expect me to not care that you cheated on Mom this year. Jesus, just last month-"

"Stan, this is more serious than I'm stressing." Randy looked back up to Stan finally. "I completely understand if you'd rather be back with your mother and sister, but I hope you'll try and support me." He paused, hands slipping off the chair's back and one reaching up to wipe his eyes. "I asked Elizabeth to marry me, that's why I want us to live with her and her son."

Stan felt his whole world spin on it's axis, vision slipping from straight across to a total right angle as he felt his body warm. He braced himself pathetically against the fridge and tried to stay upright. He never imagined that his situation could get any more complicated or frightening. It was as if everything he'd ever been told was something to placate him and to keep him docile.

"Stanley?" Randy asked, stepping closer to Stan and leaving behind the kitchen table at last.

Stan had to hold up a hand to signal his father to stay back a minute, regaining complete balance as he felt the blood drain out of his head.

"I'm gonna start going to AA meetings next week if that's what you're-"

"I think I need a minute. I'll be in the shower." Stan blew out a large breath and slowly walked out of the room, trying to ignore Mr. Mackey's obvious stares. How many times could his whole life change before he just stopped moving along with it?

* * *

><p>The next few days that followed were spent pushing his Dad out of the house and into looking for apartments every morning before school - every morning feeling a little more optimistic because he hadn't seen Randy drink thus far. Still, he couldn't help but feel helpless during school. He and Kyle had talked about the situation concerning Craig's family at least ten times and Stan felt like he was getting nowhere. Kyle knew the new information as well. Stan had told him that same night, walking out into Mr. Mackey's backyard for his second emotional crisis out by the garden to call Kyle. Now, when Kyle would clear his throat at lunch and jerk his head in Craig's direction, Stan would just ignore him and pretend to be utterly consumed with eating his tuna sandwiches.<p>

"You have to tell him soon before he finds out from some random idiot."

"Kyle, I don't want to talk about this again. It's too fucking-"

"What are we arguing about?" Kenny asked, interested - as he always was - in prying into other people's business.

"Nothing," Stan sighed. He carefully took out his wallet and pulled out a dollar for Kenny. "Here, go buy fries or something."

"Are you seriously buying me off so you can keep a secret from me?" Kenny asked, slamming his hand down onto the table with an expression of mock anger and disappointment. "Because in that case, one dollar is not _nearly_ sufficient." Kyle tossed him another one dollar bill, shoulders squared and lips pressed firmly together. Kenny shrugged. "Yeah, that's about right." He strode away in that way that made all the girls in the cafeteria, and probably a third of the guys, stop whatever they'd been doing to stare. By now, Stan had gotten used to entering a room with Kenny only to notice that all prior conversations stopped and all eyes flew up to them. By association, Stan and Kyle had good street cred. People assumed that Kenny McCormick and all his infinite wisdom on the lifestyle choices of drugs and sex must only befriend those who are just as rebellious. Not that Stan didn't drink and smoke too, because he did. It was just weird for people to expect it. He assumed Kenny's clothes didn't help the matter either - he wasn't still dirt poor because he worked at the local hardware store every day after school and on most weekends - but he didn't shop and therefore had to wear the same skin tight and dirty wife beaters and loose-fitting jeans with the knees always slashed open every day.

Once he'd left, Stan angrily pushed his sandwich away from him. "I can't do it. I know I should, before he hears it from Cartman or something, but I can't. I don't care how huge of an asshole Craig is, I still don't wanna fuck up his life."

"It's gonna fuck up his life regardless." Kyle was trying to guilt trip Stan, using his signature puppy dog eyes to make Stan reconsider. However, Kyle's puppy dog eyes hadn't much worked for Stan since middle school, although Kenny still groaned when Kyle pulled out all the stops.

"What do you want me to do, Kyle? Just stroll right up to him at his lunch table and say - 'Hey, Craig. Look, I know you've hated me ever since elementary school, but we're actually related. You wanna talk out how my alcoholic dad is also your's and maybe hug afterwards'?" Kyle rolled his eyes and sighed while Stan picked his sandwich back up to throw away.

"You have to being fucking kidding me." Kenny was back at the table, standing at the other end with an open mouth, a carton of soggy school fries in his hand. "No fucking way. No fucking way!"

"Shut up, you fucking idiot!" Stan shouted, frustrated. Nobody was supposed to know, not Stan himself, and certainly not Kyle. And Kenny knowing could never be good - he gossiped almost more than Bebe, who was head cheerleader.

"_How_ are you related to Tucker?" Kenny sat back down across from Stan and Kyle, mouth still agape and was neglecting his fries completely. "Shit, tell me it's by marriage."

Stan could only stare back at Kenny, not blinking and not moving. From beside him, Kyle just shook his head no for Kenny's sake. Kenny had to let his chest fall out on the table to take that information in, covering his mouth with one tight fist. "Third cousins twice removed?"

"Half brothers," Kyle supplied for Stan, who obviously still was in no mood to discuss it.

"Holy fuck." Kenny's eyes widened extensively. "That can't be true."

"Look at their hair," Kyle suggested, pointing over to where Craig sat. As per usual, Craig sat between Clyde and Tweek, with Token and Red just across from them. Craig's hair was as it always was, which was to say tangled at the roots so it always fell over one eye and looked slightly dirty. He was wearing a green jacket made of some kind of soft fabric. Tugging at the strings, he effectively pulled his hood up around the back of his neck until it bunched up there completely.

"Don't fucking point!" Stan yanked Kyle's arm down quickly. "Jesus, nobody can know about this _or_ the engagement."

"Well, you better tell him soon. We all know how Kenny is with secrets." Kyle muttered this with some kind of dark undertone, looking at their table top and not at either of his friends.

"Hey, fuck you." Kenny dropped his hand back onto the table, away from his mouth. "There's plenty I know about you that I don't tell people. And what the fuck did you just say about an engagement?"

"Eat your fries." Kyle ordered sharply, giving him a look of pure menace, which led Stan to question whether or not these supposed things were things Stan knew too or not. They had to be, right?

"Stan, when did you even find out? I don't fucking get it - your dad slept with your mom and Craig's mom in the same year? I mean, all the seniors are the same age give or take a few months." Kenny looks completely miffed and slightly disgusted, probably thinking about Randy having sex with both women. Stan wishes to never have picured those mental images either, but he can't say he hasn't.

"I never even thought about it like that," Stan said to his hands on the table, blowing air heavily out of his mouth. He glanced back over to Craig's table, where Tweek had apparently spilled a milk carton. Craig was watching Tweek mop up the spill with jittery fingers while Token cheerfully assisted, not at all bothered by the incident. Stan figured with Tweek's perpetual state of shaking he must do a lot of clumsy things that require attending to.

Kenny clapped Stan heartily on his arm, not being able to reach his back from across the table. "Sorry, bro. Maybe you should just give it some time. You know, wait it out."

"If he waits much longer, someone else will find out and they'll get to Craig first." Kyle shook his head angrily, trying to stare Stan down without much affect.

"How long have you known?"

"About two weeks," Kyle supplied.

"But we're the only ones who know, right?" Kenny bit at his lip, eyebrows narrowing. "You didn't tell anyone before me, did you?"

"We didn't even tell _you_, dumbass." Stan stood up once more, not having the chance to throw away his lunch beforehand. On the way to the trash can, dividing the cafeteria into two halves - people like Stan versus people like Craig - he caught Craig's eye. He supposed the cafeteria was sort of structured out in a very articulate way. He'd never given much thought to the layout before, but it was almost laughably funny now. On his own side, there were the athletes - all football, basketball, soccer, hockey players, and swim team members. Plus the cheerleaders. They didn't all sit by sport, but they were all there nonetheless. Some of the more political students sat on the same side, but the more hipster-y and environmentalist-y ones didn't. For instance, the table behind Craig housed a mixture of art students - whether photography, drawing, or painting - plus the student journalists and the other half of the political kids. The table beside that one held the Goth kids and some of the more well-known druggies. Every school had them. The really pro gay kids sat together with some of the artsy types and extreme liberals to discuss the state of the union or whatever the fuck was big news lately. The Catholics and extreme Conservatives sat in the corner of Stan's side of the cafeteria, the only teenagers in South Park who purposefully tried to adopt the slow country drawl that Kenny had been gifted with upon birth. It was ironic since Kenny was so opposite from their morals - he openly flirted with both genders _and_ exhibited a total lack of regard for religion of any nature.

Standing still by the trash can to let himself linger on Craig's table for longer than necessary, Stan didn't really understand why he'd concluded that Craig was responsible for all actions of the other half of the room and himself for his own half. Craig didn't care for many people over there. Sure, he'd been tight with Clyde, Token, and Tweek for years. But that didn't mean he needed them. They say no man is an island, but Stan bet Craig could be if he wanted to. Nevertheless, every kid on that half for the most part could relate to Craig. They were the kids with the same messed up family types as Stan's half - except that they were also the ones who didn't care to hide that fact from anybody else. They got piercings as a memento to broken homes and tattoos to let everyone know just how much they didn't care. Stan knew he wasn't one to want everyone to know his business like that. He couldn't speak for all of the people from his half, but he knew that they didn't wear their emotions on a sleeve. Apart from maybe Kenny, that is.

Craig's gray-green eyes flicked up to Stan, but he didn't bother to keep them there. The next second Clyde was clapping Craig on the back and laughing. Stan couldn't bother to wonder what had happened - he'd probably never understand the dynamics of any group but his own. All his life he'd only known how to interact properly with Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman. For Kyle, everything is to be said and done gingerly. For Kenny, you have to pretend to not care to make him feel like he's not being smothered. For Cartman, you have to tell him off at every chance you get because he takes everyone for granted and believes that they'd never quit being his friends. They probably wouldn't Senior year anyway, but he doesn't need to know that.

He had no idea how to be friends with anybody else. Even with Wendy, who he'd stopped dating late Sophomore year, things hadn't ever been easy. Wendy was so much smoother than he was - nothing phased her anymore and Stan couldn't keep up with that level of relaxation. She didn't want to do anything, even talk, and never wanted to leave the house. Stan loved her, but he couldn't do that anymore. It was making him too much of a hobbit and he missed being outside - even if that meant having snowball fights with Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman in the thirty degree weather, pants sopping wet up to his knees because of the snow. Now Wendy sat with Butters and Red - at Craig's table - her sloppy braids with only the ends tightly coiled and flowing black tank tops saying all she had to say for her. He wondered if they'd never broken up whether or not he would be friends with Craig now too.

Sitting back down at his table, Stan jumped in on the conversation Kyle and Kenny were having.

"You can't fucking tell anyone until Stan mans up."

"Not even Bebe?" Kenny asked, palm covering one complete side of his face so his open mouth was only partly visibly.

"Especially not Bebe! Fuck, Ken, she'll tell the entire Senior class." Kyle opened up his hands while they rested on the table to suggest that Kenny was a dumbass.

"Piss off, Kyle. I can keep a secret."

"Like when for example?"

"I never told anyone about last Friday, did I? Not Bebe, not Butters, not even Stan." He smirked lightly, eyes turning up at the corners. Kyle swallowed heavily and looked at his hands.

"Tell me what?" Stan asked, falling down into place beside Kyle.

Kenny spoke for Kyle - shrugging. "That I agree. This engagement Kyle just told me about makes things messier. Don't pussyfoot around this, Marsh."

"Christ, you guys. This is hard, okay?"

"That's what she-" Kenny started, smiling a toothy grin.

"Creative," Stan mocked.

"Not really," Cartman corrected, joining them just as the bell rang. As they fell in step together, Stan went to crane his neck to see if he could spot Craig. Cartman's huge chest blocked out a fair bit of the room, but Stan wasn't sure if that actually angered him or not.

* * *

><p>Last period was Music Tech, which Stan had with Craig, was the class he'd been dreading all day. Every period he had after lunch was spent being harassed about the Craig situation from not only Kyle, but Kenny as well. Walking into the computer lab, which was arranged in a large circle with the teacher's desk in the middle, Stan winced when he saw Craig take his normal seat farthest from the door. Craig's seat was right in front of the window, overlooking the parking lot, which was currently being shoveled. The sun was melting the small amount of snow still left from the previous night, so Stan assumed the rest of the week wouldn't be too cold either. But you never knew with South Park.<p>

He should just get it over with this period. Even if things went really badly, it was last period. That meant, if worse came to worse, Stan could race outside and go home before having to deal with Craig's probable fit. He'd seen Craig in a fight before - all elbows and knees - and he didn't want to know what that felt like firsthand. Stan was too much of a passive aggressive person to want to punch anyone most days, though he would admit to violent daydreams on occasion.

He sat down beside Craig and grimaced when Craig whipped his head around to give him a death glare. "You lost, Marsh?"

"Just thought a change of scenery might be good." He dropped his backpack on the floor between his rolling chair and Craig's, pretending to feel comfortable.

"Haven't seen you up this close since Peru."

"You like to hold grudges, don't you?" Stan turned his body around so the chair accidentally went with him, the legs bumping into the legs of Craig's chair. Craig glared more.

"It's my natural reaction to being ripped off." Craig rolled his chair as far as he could away from Stan while still being able to use the keyboard to login.

"Is the money all you care about? I'll buy you coffee after school."

"Funny, Marsh." Craig didn't like to use many syllables if he didn't have to. Stan resented that, it made getting inside his head a hell of a lot more difficult. He flipped Stan off, but that was his typical behavior.

"You like Harbucks, don't you?" Stan asked, still staring at Craig, although Craig seemed to be enthralled with his desktop. Their were only five or so icons and the wallpaper was the blank one computers came with. Fascinating.

"You're fucking serious?" Craig rolled his chair back around, hair falling back over his left eye in thick strands. His black hair looked thick, but not shiny. It looked like he didn't wash it much.

"Yeah."

"Look, no offense, but I'd rather not."

"It's important," Stan pleaded. His hands were clasped in his lap, lips pursed while he waited.

"You're kind of frightening me, Marsh."

The rest of the period was uneventful. Maybe tomorrow he'd try again. Meanwhile, Stan tried not to stare at Carig from the corner of his eye. Craig spent the period with his huge black headphones plugged into the computer, hand stuck into the roots of his hair, fingernails black with dirt. Stan didn't succeed.

* * *

><p>The next day in History with Kenny - not Kyle, because he was stuck in some hardcore AP class with Wendy and the other kids who might someday make it somewhere in life - shit went down. His teacher droned on for the first half of the period with the same listlessness as per usual. Until, that is, the whispers of the kids from the back of the room slowly moved up the rows to the front of the room. Some phones buzzed and some beeped innocently quietly, but all the same, everyone was being fed something important via cell phones. With about twenty minutes left until lunch period, the small murmurs from the kids in the back started, and it only excelled from there.<p>

The back two rows were filled up by the druggie kids who slept through half the period and texted through the second half, or vice versa. Sometimes they scratched genitals or drug references into the desks with pens, but still did little to applaud. As the rows progressed, including Stan and Kenny's middling point, the class' average rose. The front row kids were the ones who did all of their work, but they weren't Honors students. They still texted and swore, just not openly or with pride.

When the halfway point of the period hit, the kids in the back had buzzing phones. Then, murmuring. Then, phones were craned to hold out for the kids in the next row to confirm some sort of suspicion. Next, some of the people in the middle whipped around to ask what had happened. Stan hadn't noticed at first - it was faster than most gossip spread, but not drastically. Then, Kenny's phone vibrated in the pocket of his ragged acid wash jeans. He checked to make sure the teacher had his back turned, then peered at the screen.

"Shit." His hand flew up went to cover his mouth, elbow almost missing the desk's edge and knocking his arm out of balance.

"What?" Stan asked.

"Stan, you're not - fuck." He just shoved the phone into Stan's lap from under his desk. Shaking his head, he kept his focus on the board. While his hand lifted up to read the message, he could feel eyes on him. Whispers were just starting to reach the front row kids. His hands shook.

_FWD: marsh and tucker are gonna be step brothers. don't tell anybody, they're not even supposed to know._

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Stan shoved the phone back into Kenny's lap, chest tightening. "How'd they know? I can't believe this is happening."

Kenny turned to give Stan a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry, man."

"I should have told him yesterday."

"Why didn't you?" Kenny asked, confused. "I thought you were going-"

"I tried! The asshole wouldn't talk to me."

By now, most everyone in the room was staring, unblinking and fascinated. Stan pinched at the bridge of his nose, a bad habit he'd taken to in elementary school that had never worn off.

"He has to know by now."

"Stan-"

"You didn't, right?"

"No! I swear I fucking didn't."

"And it wouldn't be Kyle. Do you think someone overheard us?" Stan sighed, trying to cover his face the best he could from the class without having to shout out for them to _stop fucking staring_. Clyde and Tweek were just a couple seats down from them, but Stan couldn't bear to uncover his face to look for a reaction.

"Ken, are they - are Clyde and Tweek-"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

When the bell rang, Stan saw Clyde and Tweek coming up to him, so he ducked out of the room as quickly as he could without losing Kenny. It'd be one thing to run into Craig in the hallway with Kenny and have to risk being beaten up with no chance for recovery. It'd be another to go in alone without Kenny there to save him if need be. Stan liked to think he was reasonably strong - he had a good build and played football - but he'd never been in a fight before and didn't want to start now.

Especially when he'd tried, he'd _really_ tried to tell Craig yesterday.

He made sure Kenny was solidly at his side as he walked down the hallway, already feeling defeated. He saw a lot of his classmates staring - even the ones not in his grade - but nobody at this point even seemed to bother to hide the fact. Stan assumed it was too crazy to even care about being embarrassed by staring. If it were any two other guys maybe Stan would feel the same. He probably would.

He tried to remember if, on their way to lunch from the History wing, he usually passed by Craig or not. He couldn't. Regardless, Craig would be at lunch. Stan shuffled into the cafeteria with heavy feet, dread seeping through his body with each step. Kyle was waiting with a tapping foot at their usual table, eyes darting to the left and right repeatedly. He looked how Stan felt.

"Should you, you think, try to find him?" Kenny asked.

"He'll kill me." Stan couldn't sit down, his legs felt like jello. If he tried to throw them over the bench to sit they'd probably land him backwards on the disgusting tile floor, used napkins and all.

"You're on the fucking football team, Stan." Kyle voiced. "You shouldn't be worried about that. You should be worried about him being overwhelmed by everyone suddenly knowing something about him that he didn't even know until today."

Kenny sat down across from Kyle, sinking down and peering over to the right to check on Craig's table. "You can take that loser, bro. He can take a joint better than a fist any day. I say go for the nose."

"You gonna punch me now, Marsh?" Craig teased, annoyingly blase voice - even now - getting on Stan's nerve. He turned around on his heel, holding in a breath.

"We should talk." Craig's eyes were dark, giving away the anxiety Stan knew Craig had, although his voice didn't seem tense yet.

"Yeah." Suddenly, Stan was the one with short answers.

"And don't think I didn't hear that insult, McCormick." Kenny raised a brow, but said nothing, kicking Kyle gently under the table to stop his tapping foot.

Stan followed Craig out of the cafeteria to the back of the school, the spot of the parking lot where most teachers who'd worked there for ten years or so got the closest spots. Stan didn't look at Craig for a minute, still feeling like he was going to fall over any second. He couldn't help playing over their exit in his head, all the looks, even from the most chill kids on either side.

The voices had muffled as they'd passed, then they'd started back up again.

Craig sighed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, digging them out of his back pocket. He was one of those kids who wore their cigs obviously in their skinny jean pockets like something to be proud of. Not that Stan was ashamed he smoked - just afraid his Mom, at least before now, would have found out. He offered Stan one, but Stan couldn't keep his hands from shaking. He played it off like he was cold without a jacket on, folding his arms over his chest and sticking his hands under his armpits.

Lighting up, Craig just kept staring at Stan without saying anything. Eventually he flicked the cigarette and glanced to the tar under their feet before looking back up to Stan.

"If you're wondering how they know - that's my fault." Stan cleared his throat tightly, looking at the bricks to the back of the building.

"Wait, you knew?" Craig's hand dropped back down to his side and burnt a spot onto his jeans. He seemed unaffected by this, teeth snarled. "You already knew? For how fucking long?"

"I tried to tell you yesterday. About two weeks. I meant to-"

"You really knew." Craig shook his head, chin down to his chest and started pacing back and forth with the length of maybe three feet. Stan stopped being worried Craig would deck him when Craig stopped pacing after a minute, taking slow drags from his cigarette.

"I'm thinking someone heard me talking to Kyle and Kenny at lunch and had a field day with it."

"No," Craig said. "I told Token to text it to Clyde, but he hit 'Contacts' instead. Said he was really sorry, if that helps."

Stan stood mystified until he could process it. "Who told you?"

Craig snorted, his face going dark and blank. He backed up into the wall and slid himself down it until he was on his ass, knees pressed up into his chest. "Me and my sister heard your Dad talking to my Mom on the phone last night."

Stan nodded slowly, still processing. He sat down against the wall a foot away from Craig, holding back a breath.

"I meant to tell you yesterday last period."

Craig's chin pointed out at Stan as his head whipped around. "That's why you asked me to go get coffee."

Stan nodded, feeling guilty.

"That's nice, Marsh. Thought you just wanted in my pants, but now I see that you were trying to save me from this shit."

Stan tried to stop a grin from spreading across his face, but failed. "What can I say? I'm a gentleman." Then, he realized that they were actually related and banter that even resembled something sexual in the slightest wasn't acceptable. Stan was so thankful that only Kyle and Kenny knew the whole story.

"Wait, do Clyde and Token and Tweek know that-"

"No. Do Kyle and Kenny and Cartman-"

"Not Cartman."

Craig breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good fucking thing. The last thing we need is Cartman to spread that around."

"He'll never hear it from me."

"I can't believe they're getting married. That's so fucked up," Craig said, trailing off. "What does that even mean for us?"

"We'll end up living together." Stan pressed his heels into the tar until it hurt. Everything kept getting progressively more insane and he wasn't sure exactly what to do to help the situation.

Craig nodded solemnly, face blank. "They already all know about our parents, but they don't have to know about-"

Stan stuck out his right hand so fast it almost blew out the flame on Craig's cigarette. "Deal?"

Craig snorted again, bringing the cigarette up to his mouth and pursing his lips around it so he could use his right hand to shake and his left to stick his lighter in his front pocket. He squinted in the sun - the snow was there in small portions, but the sky was open and bright. Stan shook Craig's hand tightly, fingers getting colder by the minute.

Craig was right regardless - if it wasn't anybody's business that they were going to become step-brothers, then it sure as hell wasn't their business to know that they were technically already half-brothers. Thank fuck he'd only told Kyle and Kenny - and that Craig's friends didn't know. He knew he couldn't trust Cartman with something so huge and he definitely didn't know Tweek, Token, and Clyde enough to trust them with it. Stan dropped his hand back to his side, feeling glad that Craig at least had already known before it had started spreading like wild fire.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as I knew - I just thought it'd fuck up your life."

Craig cocked an eyebrow in a way that made Stan's body tense. "It's gonna fuck up my life regardless."

"That was Kyle's point." Stan laughed quietly.

"That must be why he's in all those AP classes."

"So, we should probably go in before we miss the bell," Stan considered. He really didn't want to go back in to face all the eyes again, but he realized he didn't have much choice. Craig just nodded with his cigarette perched between his lips again, pushing off going back inside. If Stan could be more relaxed, he'd love to let himself procrastinate some.

Craig stood, not bothering to dust off all the grass and dirt on the back of his jeans. Stan would mention it, but he doubted Craig would care. Stan made a move for the door, but Craig held up one finger. Dropping his cigarette butt and stamping on it until it looked to be lodged into the tar, Craig remained silent. Stan opened the door and went in first, leaving one hand on it to hold it open for Craig. Thankfully, not everyone looked. A large majority of the cafeteria seemed to be enjoying their food or quietly pretending to in order to look as though they weren't paying attention. Stan hoped it was dying down.


	2. Paper Thin Walls

_Information that may be confusing from the previous chapter:_ For all intents and purposes, Elizabeth will be Craig's mother's first name. She's going to be a main character, so she needs to be called something apart from Mrs. Tucker, which she won't be for much longer anyway.

Also, there's going to be a lot of focus on different characters apart from Stan and Craig every

chapter. For instance, Mr. Mackey was really important for the first chapter, but won't most likely be seen for the rest of the story.

And lastly, just for kicks, I wanted to mention that the first chapter I wrote for this story was the third one. The next chapter will be almost entirely the party spoken of in the summary. It's a really long chapter as well, but I swear, just because there's one setting for a lot of words, it doesn't mean it'll be boring. A _lot_ happens next chapter.

**CHAPTER TWO:** "Paper Thin Walls"

**Otherwise:** "Hey" by The Pixies

* * *

><p>Stan wouldn't lie - he'd been through a lot in his life. He also, though, guessed most kids in his grade couldn't say they've met Jesus or Britney Spears. He could bet they hadn't been stuck in Peru and roped into ending the pandemic of guinea pig monsters or had to deal with alcoholism personally, or hoarding. At best, he'd say he's thankful for the good times - seeing Kyle and Cartman find the cure to HIV, being able to save Kyle's life by stealing Cartman's kidney, and making it big thanks to Guitar Hero - but then he'd also have to thankful for all the bad. He could still distinctly remember being trapped in a cave with his friends for days with no food, trying to bring Kyle back from San Francisco by writing a popular song, and housing all those baby cows in his room to keep them from being slaughtered. He didn't exactly regret all the noble things he'd done, but he still sometimes wished he could have had a more normal childhood.<p>

But when he was a kid, he snapped back from having to see Kenny deathly ill in Hell's Pass and getting his heart crushed by Wendy numerous times. Being a kid meant you were hardly ever bogged down by all the shit that happened because you had this energy that never seemed to dwindle. But then, he turned ten, and suddenly he felt tired. He _was_ tired, really. He was exhausted from everything he'd seen and participated in. He didn't want people to think of him as that kid who always got himself and his friends into bad situations. In fact, he's hated getting into those situations since he was at least ten. Stan hated how he was drinking so early and built up a tolerance over the years, but he didn't have any solutions. He didn't know of any way to keep a stable life.

Stan had always let Kyle lean on him - and Kenny too. He even supported Cartman until his antics became more obviously evil, and even then had troubles not defending him. He was loyal, sure, but lately not strong. He'd been leaning so heavily on Kyle and Kenny all through high school that he knew if he didn't play football everyone would assume he was a pussy. They probably did even know, but it was hard to pretend he had all this enthusiasm for life when his parents were constantly fighting and Shelley was spending all her time bossing him around. Still, he had been hopeful until now. He always figured he'd get into an alright college close to one of Kyle's and keep in touch with Kenny. Stan always hated thinking of the future, but then that was even better than dwelling on his present failures. Realizing he hadn't actually been at rock bottom before meant he could only be setting himself up for it now by moving in with Craig and his mother, something he was not at all excited to do.

Randy had informed Stan that he and Elizabeth had found the perfect little house, next to some good people in town. Stan hadn't dared himself the torture of knowing what that could possibly mean, so he hadn't asked. Now, he sat in Kyle's bedroom with him, Kenny hanging out there as well.

Spinning around in Kyle's computer chair, Kenny was complaining about the rising prices of weed. His oversized orange sweater was huge at his wrists and flowed easily over his hands, with elbow patches halfway down his lower arms. It almost touched his knees, but thankfully didn't so as to not disrupt the quite disposition of his ripped jeans and brown leather shoes, which were scuffed up along the bottoms. They were taller than normal shoes and barely resembled cowboy boots, which was still closely enough to earn taunting from Stan, Kyle, and obviously Cartman. "An eighth a chronic should _not_ be that much, I don't care where you're telling me that shit's been imported from."

Kyle rolled his eyes, barely listening, eyes on his AP European History book. The heavy number was balanced on Kyle's lap and always seemed at least partially ready to tip over.

Kenny played with a hole in the arm of his sleeve, biting his lip. "So, I told Tweek, you know, that's just how it works. If you really need this shit and don't have the cash, you gotta get down on your knees." He looked at Kyle with his head tilted and sighed. Kyle was scratching away furiously on a notebook, which was looking to be more balanced on his hand than his lap. "And Tweek is totally into it, so he goes right down like it's no big thing. Which, you could bet, it totally_ is_." His expression is lewd, but it didn't grab Kyle's attention, so Kenny raises his eyebrows at Stan, wanting him to play along.

"That's right, Ken. And when I came back into the hardware store's supply closet to look for you, there were like three other girls in there watching and-"

"Hey, guys, can you quiet it down a little?" Kyle asked, eyes on his book, pencil in his mouth. "I'm trying to finish a DBQ."

"What the fuck is a DBQ?" Kenny asked. He was trying to sit cross-legged in the computer chair, but failing miserably. His legs were long - way longer than most kids' - every since his growth spurt in eighth grade. When he finally got his feet up on the chair, he had no choice but to rest his chin on his knees, or risk ruining all that effort. Kenny looked to be cramping, at least that's what Stan guessed when he started visibly wincing and swearing. "Shit, that's my back."

Stan clapped Kyle's knee from his spot on the bed, ahead of Kyle. Lounging against the headboard with his lap still trying to balance the huge book, Kyle finally glanced up. "I've gotta get going to football practice," Stan said, standing up. "I'll tell Cartman you say hi."

"Tell him I think he's a fat fucking bastard." Kyle had already gone back to working, squinting at the page until he started nodding and licking his lips. Jotting something down, he ignored Stan's leaving. Until Kenny decided he needed more attention.

Stan had just made it past the bed and was heading toward the door as Kenny had stood up and ran headlong into Stan. Feeling the air getting knocked out of him, he groaned and couldn't help but fall backwards to the floor. Kyle's carpeting had spared his head a concussion, but Kenny wasn't helping. He was balancing above Stan on his elbows, laughing. "Mr. Marsh, you slay me. But don't you think we should wait until marriage?"

"Ugh, don't call me Mr. Marsh, for Christ's sake." Stan rubbed the back of his aching neck and tried to escape Kenny to no avail. "Kyle, help!"

Kyle finally peered over to them, but made no move to stand up and help. Scrunching his mouth in disapproval, he snorted. "Just don't be too loud if you're planning on de-flowering him, Ken. I have work to do."

Kenny seemed to find this hilarious, but Stan couldn't disagree more since he seemed to have no say whether he was getting up or not anytime soon. "Get _off_, Kenny."

"Well, Jesus, Stan. That's what I was trying to do."

"Ugh." Stan finally got lean way over Kenny by elbowing him in the groin. Using his knees to get back up, he groaned. "Okay, I'll see you assholes on Monday."

"Always a pleasure," Kyle remarked from his bed, paying no attention to Kenny' s savage show of licking his lips in Stan's direction.

While Stan was halfway down the hall, he could hear Kenny make a running leap on Kyle's bed as the springs squeaked. Then, Kyle was laughing loudly.

Stan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered where all the normal people in the world lived.

* * *

><p>South Park High's football team was usually a disappointing group. Although they trained all of the Saturdays almost every weekend, including this one, they seemed to improve very little. Except for Cartman, of course, who was their Coach's favorite. With a chest that was double the size of every other guy's on the team, thanks to his exercise and nasty protein shakes, he looked and played every bit of his role as high school football jock. He wasn't all that much taller than Stan himself, maybe two inches max, but he looked it when he stood beside him. Stan usually avoided standing too close to Cartman during practice because of all the sweat. Doing lunges beside Cartman was kind of like standing directly under a rain cloud and expecting not to get drenched. And Cartman sweat like a farm animal, no matter how much deodorant he wore.<p>

That day they would be doing their regular routine - warm-up exercises like lunges and push-ups. Then, they'd do some run-throughs of game plays. Because the school itself was larger than need be for such a small town, Stan could always still see the basketball court from the football field's far left-hand. One of his Coach's frequent commands to the team was to stop watching the basketball guys play and spend more time on their own abilities if they were supposed to be playing _whoever_ that next Friday.

Currently, Stan could see Token from the football field, dribbling the ball while several guys Stan had seen but didn't know stood around him talking. The guy was odd - but not because he was still the only black kid in their grade. He'd gotten kind of ripped somewhere between sophomore and junior year and seemed to have gotten his style from that Dragon Tattoo chick with the bleached eyebrows and facial piercings. The back of his head held a permanent design of an inverted cross and he had a couple tattoos that were mainly on his upper arms and shoulders. Plus, that summer he'd gotten his eyebrow pierced. And his nose as well. In Stan's opinion, it suited the guy, but he could only imagine how it must piss off his basketball coach. Generally speaking, piercings were looked down up for athletes since they could easily be tugged on or yanked out, whether accidentally or otherwise. According to Cartman, nose piercings of any kind were the absolute most fun ones to pull on because they hurt the most - but Cartman was a fucking liar and Stan doubted how he'd even know what area of the face would be the most painful to have pierced. If Cartman ever did try to yank on Token's nose, he'd have another thing coming. As if on cue, Token breached the non-contact rules on the court while Stan watched, roughly throwing himself into some sophomore who probably thought he was hot shit for trying to steal the ball. Token wasn't the tallest kid around, but he did have muscle.

"Shit, did you see that black asshole ram into that little pussy?" Cartman laughed from beside Stan, standing a little too close in Stan's opinion. You could never be too far from Cartman during practice.

"Yeah," Stan nodded. He side-stepped so he could move himself a few feet over. "There's one place I wouldn't rather be right now." Wincing as he watched Cartman wipe at his dripping forehead with the back of his hand, Stan glanced back quickly to Token, who was now fist-bumping Clyde, who was also on the team.

Cartman snorted haughtily. "You'd rather be here alone than over there getting rammed by Token? Stop lying to yourself, Stan." Always with the condescending tone and self-righteous attitude like he knew everything about you just from a glance.

"By the way, Kyle told me to tell you he thinks you're a fucking fatass. Oh, no. I'm sorry, that was what I said. He said you're a fat fucking bastard."

"No wonder you're salivating over Token. Kyle can't be particularly satisfying in bed, can he?"

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman."

"Marsh, watch your fucking mouth!" Coach Barnley shouted, spit flying out of his mouth as he did so, directing the megaphone toward Stan's side of the field. "Twenty extra push-ups!"

Stan glared heavily at Cartman, but he was too busy flexing for the underclassmen's embarrassment to notice.

Two hours later, after Stan's body had been exhausted from all energy sources, the coach announced the end of the day. Thankfully, they weren't staying to do more run-throughs, which tended to only happen the Sundays before games. The main theory, popularized by Brydon Guermo's freshman brother, was that in order to ruin them for Monday morning and all of it's classes, they would need to first be bombarded with too many exercises and activities the night before. Stan couldn't argue because it seemed logical to even him when mentioned on Sunday nights when they were all practically puking up their dinners with shining faces and stinking armpits. However, today Stan only minimally stunk in comparison to the loathed Sunday stench he had gotten used to over his three year stint playing football. If it was one thing that got easier after practice, it was standing Cartman's presence. When Stan was stinking, he could barely smell Cartman, having to first work past his own sweat.

In the locker room, he was just finishing up changing out of his sweat-stained clothes when he remembered that he had forgotten to call Randy to ask if he could pick Stan up. Back when his family was still doing fairly alright, he could borrow his mother's car to drive to football practice while his dad worked, but now there was no extra car to borrow. Flipping open his cell phone, Stan quickly dialed his father, hoping he wouldn't have to sit around in the school parking lot for any length of time.

"Stan-"

"Hey, Dad. Listen, are you around? I need a ride home-" It was still hard getting used to calling their new place_ home_. It's not that the house was too small or anything - well, there _were_ rooming issues. But, the main thing was that the constant shuffle now was beginning to make Stan feel like he wasn't ever going to have a permanent place to live. From his childhood home to Mr. Mackey's to this place - which brought on it's own interesting challenges - everything surrounding Stan felt at least a little subject to change. He was still waiting for his dad to walk up to him one night and tell him that he was breaking off the engagement so he and Stan could move Mexico and smuggle drugs into the US through small children's stomachs. Anything crazy would be welcome at this point, since crazy had always been perfectly normal for Stan.

Instead, Stan had a small bedroom beside Craig Tucker's, with walls so thin he could hear Craig's music through his headphones at night. And Craig apparently never slept without music playing. But Stan wasn't really suffering there, the place was nice aside from the small rooms and limited amount of furniture. Since Randy and Elizabeth had both been kicked out of their respective houses, there were only the barest amount of seating thus far. There was no kitchen table or kitchen chairs, just the appliances that came with the house. Then, the living room had only one normal sized couch and a loveseat, which were placed very closely to the TV so as to be sure it's small frame could be seen from the seat you choose. Not that you had such a large variety of choices. Considering how often Randy and Elizabeth watched TV, Stan and Craig barely ever got there. This was due in part to the previous reason, but also the fact that joining their parents meant squishing together on the unoccupied loveseat only to suffer through the discomfort of watching _Dance Moms_. Stan strongly suspected that without each other's hounding exes, they needed a little screaming of some sort, even if that was done by a middle-aged and overweight bitch of a choreographer with a pension for making small children cry. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to make perfect sense.

It went without saying that life with the 'newlyweds' was more than awkward. Randy was torn between being heartbroken over his pending divorce and being thrilled to be sharing a place with Craig's mom. Stan had luckily not seen them thus far engage in any physical intimacy, but it had only been two weeks since they'd moved in. So far, though he was unsure of whether this was better or worse than the alternative, he'd seen more of Craig's intimate parts than either of their parents' and vice versa. He'd already been exposed to Craig's ass about three times and Craig had already seen Stan's dick once (all by accident, of course, but still). Stan could now conclude, after living with Craig for two weeks, that Craig was a fucking weirdo. He spent a majority of time at home naked (which explained the accidental viewing of Craig's ass), usually in his bedroom smoking pot. The smell wafted occasionally into Stan's room and made Stan a little anxious. It'd been about a month since he'd smoked with Kenny, and what with all the drama in his life as of late, he was on edge. Craig was also a bit of a neat freak for someone with such stoner qualities. Compared to Stan's room, which wasn't nearly as bad as it'd been when he was hoarding in middle school, Craig lived in an Ikea showroom. The posters on his walls - all of various movies and bands that eluded Stan for the most part - were framed and placed perfectly straight on their hinges. His bedside table had no cigarette burns in it like Stan's, but there was some candle wax stuck there that Stan assumed Craig hadn't been able to clean off. Neither of their rooms had carpet - wood being the assumed proto call for home buying in the twenty-first century, apparently. While Stan had already littered his floor with the standard mixture of clean and dirty clothes, Craig's floor was spotless. Stan had seen Craig Swiffer his floor last Saturday afternoon with a joint hanging out of his mouth when their parents had been out for lunch - wearing only white underwear like he was the teenage Tom Cruise with the house to himself for the first time in his life. In more ways than one, Craig mystified Stan.

"Stan, I'm with Elizabeth shopping for a kitchen table. We took her SUV, so Craig's coming to pick you up." The blase tone of Randy's voice astounded Stan. It wasn't as if Randy couldn't tell things were awkward between him and Craig. What did he expect? This had all been sprung on them so suddenly and they had, as far as they knew, very little in common. Nobody was helping the situation either, letting the boys fend for themselves when it came to dinner so they all ended up eating in separate rooms. Stan hadn't actually had a full conversation with Craig as of yet and he'd been hoping not to push that, at least not today.

"Wait, Dad, just let me ask Cartman if he can-" Just as Stan had craned his neck over his shoulder to look for Cartman, the prick had started drawing a finger across his neck artfully, the universal sign for _no fucking way_. Just out of the shower, Cartman looked less frightening than usual, so Stan scowled openly at him. Covering the end of his phone with his right hand, he swore loudly.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Don't fucking snarl at me, asshole. I have legitimate plans."

Some of the guys were raising eyebrows and obviously staring, but Stan couldn't give a shit. "Like what?"

"Going bowling with Token and Clyde."

"You've got to be shitting me."

Cartman shrugged. "Have you ever _seen_ that asshole's indoor bowling alley?"

Stan grimaced, bringing the phone back up to his ear. "Nevermind, he's busy."

"Craig should be around soon, Stan. See you at home around seven?"

"Yeah, sure." Stan inwardly groaned.

"Tucker coming to pick up your sorry ass?" Cartman calculated scathingly. Shaking his head, he threw open his locker and reached for his football jacket.

Snapping his phone shut and shoving it into the pocket of his knee-length cotton gray shorts, Stan didn't bother to dignify Cartman's ridiculous attitude with a response.

"You need to get a car, my friend. Even a shitty little Prius or something. No need to hold out for a hybrid, man."

Stan just shook his head angrily. "I'm not gonna ask my dad to buy me a car right after he just bought a house with Craig's mom." When he'd finished changing, throwing a red zip-up sweater over his white tee shirt, he figured he should go out to the parking lot to wait. He probably shouldn't really presume Craig would text him upon arrival when he'd been forced to pick Stan up.

The basketball team was just getting out when Stan got to the parking lot, but they practiced for the same length of time. Usually football started half an hour before basketball did. Token and Clyde were leaning against the school wall in the back, dressed in heavy sweatpants and light tee shirts. When Craig pulled up in his beat-up black Jeep Wrangler, the two of them stopped laughing and glanced over, smiling slightly. At least they seemed to be enjoying the show. Stan, however, wasn't.

The driver's side of the car was facing all three of them, Craig slowly pulling to a stop and proceeding to roll down the window. As soon as the window began moving, even when it'd only moved down an inch, the blaring music was easily heard. Several guys from the basketball team were watching with skepticism, probably wondering who Craig thought he was to just show up at practice like he belonged there. The song playing was heavy and electric, something with a girl singer who had a sort of rasp to her voice. Once the window had been successfully rolled all the way down, Craig's face finally showed. He was wearing black sunglasses, the kind that looked like he might have robbed Andy Warhol's closet to find. There was a spec of something bright red on the tip of his nose and on closer judgment Stan could see some red in his hair as well. His head bobbed slightly to the music before he licked his lip and waved Stan over. Cartman was now outside, standing behind Stan with a chuckle. He gently pushed Stan forward with one rough hand.

"Better hurry, Stan. Your boy toy's waiting."

Stan ignored Cartman as he walked over with his head lowered to the opposite side of Craig's Jeep. Feeling like a little kid again, climbing into his mom's car while the other kids stood waiting for their rides, Stan blushed. Luckily, Craig was too immersed in flipping off a chuckling group of guys - including Token and Clyde - to notice. Craig rolled the window up easily, not bothering to say anything at first.

He drove without barely moving, one hand on the bottom of the wheel and the other laying on his lap. He was wearing a pair of maroon sweatpants low on his waist and some kind of heavy cream-colored sweater that was obviously too big for him. Stan easily picked out the red spots in Craig's hair, even one on his jaw line he hadn't seen before.

"You've got red spots in your hair." Stan kept his eyes carefully on the road, voice rising to be heard over the speakers Craig had. The Jeep must have been from the late 90s, but Stan would bet anything he'd saved up for months to get fantastic speakers. His iPod was connected to the car and the screen flashed across a song by Sleigh Bells.

"I'm painting my bedroom," Craig supplied in a monotone. "I'm too clumsy to not get paint all over myself." He moved his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, as they'd been slipping. Stan wondered why Craig was spending his Friday night holed up in his room painting until he'd realized he'd be doing something even less interesting when they got back.

"Need any help?" Stan wondered almost immediately why he'd even asked.

Craig briefly took his eyes off the road to look at Stan, obviously surprised. "Sure, Marsh."

Stan just nods and makes sure to file away a request for Randy to pick him up for the next week.

Inside their new house, Craig throws his set of keys onto the kitchen counter, which is the first room when entered. He's pouring himself a cup of coffee while Stan unzips his red sweater so he's left more comfortable in his white tee shirt. With Craig's back turned, he can make out a couple of small splotches of red paint on the backs of Craig's maroon sweatpants. He wonders if Craig wore them on purpose in case of any accidents.

"You sure you don't have any big Friday night plans with the meat heads and cheerleaders?" Craig asked from the coffee maker, tapping his foot impatiently on the tile floor while he waits for his coffee.

"Nah," Stan answered truthfully, then felt like he was being too sincere. "Am I going to need a smock? The back of your pants have paint on them too."

"Yeah. Don't forget your oven mitts, Marsh."

"Seriously, though, how did you get paint in your hair, on your face, and on the back of your legs? Do you use a hairdryer to paint or something?"

"Yeah, I borrowed your's. Hope you don't mind." Craig finally turned around, smirking. He gingerly sipped from his coffee mug and shook his head.

Stan laughed, then followed Craig upstairs.

* * *

><p>In Craig's bedroom, it was getting dark, so they turned on his lights and the hallway lights as well. Craig had his bed shoved up against the wall with the closet, the wall so taken up by closet space that it might not need to be painted. He's already covered the left wall, but it'll need two layers anyway. There were newspaper pages splayed all over the fucking floor and Craig had to toe off his shoes at the doorway so that he could tip toe across the floor without moving the pages around. On his way to the wall straight ahead of the doorway, he started lifting his sweater over his head and then flung it across his room so it landed on his pillow.<p>

"I advise you don't wear anything you care too much about," Craig suggested, wearing no shirt and bending over to reach a brush from the tray at his feet. His sweatpants slipped a little at his waist and Craig looked a little tan for September. Stan followed Craig's lead by kicking off his shoes before entering the room and grabbing a brush. He headed to the right wall instead of the middle one, not wanting to make himself or Craig uncomfortable.

Halfway through the job, Craig started playing The Strokes from his iPod dock and before they'd noticed, they were finishing the last wall together. Stan offered, while wiping across his brow, to help Craig finish the second coat the next day if he needed more help. Craig merely nodded, accidentally smearing red paint on his arm as he moved to lean against the doorway. Stan laughed and watched Craig's mouth curve up slightly enough to seem amused. They talked a little about movies while admiring their paint job from the doorway, and Stan learns that Craig's seen basically every movie ever, including the Star Wars series an extensive number of times.

"You're one of those huge Star Wars fans who goes online and blogs about the characters, aren't you?" Stan asked.

Craig laughed lightly with his back turned, flipping Stan off.

After, they sat cross-legged on the newspapered floor and made sure the wood hasn't been splattered. There'd been one spot that needed to be cleaned up before it stained, which Stan could tell Craig was going crazy over. Stan laid down on top of the paint, not caring if his tee shirt got ruined. Craig tried not to laugh, biting his lip while Stan yawned and stretched for show, but it didn't work.

Stan crawled into bed late, not hearing any music from Craig's bedroom as he did so. He fell asleep almost instantly, although he had to trip over several pairs of jeans in the dark to reach his bed.

* * *

><p>The next morning Stan had woken up late, his feet hanging off the edge of his bed and his pillow somewhere on the floor. He moved around a lot when he slept, but hadn't actually fallen out of his bed in years, thankfully. Still, it made sleepovers awkward when people would wake him up from his heavy slumber, him taking up too much room and edging over into other people's space. Having stepped out into the hallway to crane his neck into Craig's bedroom, he saw that his stoner half brother was nowhere to be found. It was a bit odd for Craig to have plans early on a Saturday, but then again, Stan could only say that after living with the guy for two weeks. He probably didn't know all there was to know about Craig.<p>

Kenny texted Stan just before he had been about to pour himself a bowl of cereal and asked if Stan was up to smoke. Although that automatically gave Stan the knowledge that Butters and Tweek must be busy, he didn't actually care. Being taunted by Craig's near constant smoking lately was starting to seriously piss Stan off. He wondered briefly if Craig normally got high that often and was actually giving Tweek a run for his money that nobody knew about, or if he smoked up more when he was stressed and therefore, because of the move, had a more urgent need to relax. Stan could definitely relate to the latter.

Kenny showed up twenty minutes later, toting a bag of fast food french fries and burgers with his messenger bag slung across his shoulder, where the weed would presumably be. Sometimes Kenny did actually treat Kyle and Stan to lunch after getting paid from either of his jobs - being a drug dealer or being a hardware store guy - but most of the time his money went straight to his family's bills. On the occasion that Kenny paid for food, Stan would feel a little guilty, but didn't honestly have any say in the matter. Kenny was a stubborn guy, especially when it came to money, and didn't like to be anyone's charity case.

They ate first, sitting down at the new kitchen table Randy and Elizabeth had bought the day before, celebrating their choice of breakfast. Stan could tell Kenny was in a good mood by his bright eyes and hyped up movements. He had come to understand through the years that there were mainly two different Kenny moods - distant and frustrated or hyper and cheerful.

"You certainly seem happy," Stan commented with a grin, wiping off ketchup from his mouth. Kenny merely nodded at first, mouth too full to speak. Then, "Yeah, Kyle and I went to the movies last night with Ike and Filmore."

"Oh, cool." Stan took a huge bite of his burger and then asked, "What'd you see?"

"Project X," Kenny confirmed. "Speaking of teenage rebellion, Bebe's party is tomorrow."

"I didn't even know there was going to be a party," Stan thought out loud, chewing on a mouth full of cheese. "Didn't she just have one like three weeks ago?"

"Three weeks is a fuck of a long time between house parties, Stan." Kenny finally looked up from his fries to drink from his milkshake. "And you didn't know about the party because after I leave here I'm off to Bebe's to convince her to throw it."

Stan laughed. "That's nice of you. Was I just a drive-by, then?"

"What, because you're right next door to her now?" Kenny asked, eyebrows raised. "Nah, I wanted to smoke with you anyway."

Out of all of Stan's new neighbors, he had to say, he didn't mind being so close to Bebe. Facing his house's backyard was Mr. Garrison and Mr. Slave's place and to his house's left was Butters' house. With Bebe to his direct right, he at least didn't have to walk very far to make it to her parties on time now. Not that house parties had a set starting and ending time, but nevertheless, it made life slightly more convenient.

"Although," Kenny continued, "It's been a while since I've gotten off and now that you two live so close-"

"I'm eating, Ken." Stan dropped his forehead down to his palm, reluctant to hear the details of Kenny's sex life.

"I was just going to say that with you two being neighbors, I can now fuck directly after I smoke up, which should be nice. Unless that's something you can save me the trip for," Kenny added with lewd grin from around his straw.

Stan coughed behind his burger and shook his head. "It's a good offer, but I'll pass."

"Oh, well." Kenny wrapped up his food wrappers and got up to drop them into the trash across the room. "I've got other offers lined up anyway."

"Do you wanna smoke upstairs? My room's a little messy, but-"

Kenny snorted. "It's been, what, a couple weeks? You need to work on your housewife talents."

"Don't need to with Craig around," Stan supplied. "His room's clean enough for the entire house."

Kenny lifted an eyebrow. "And do we get to see this scary place?"

"Sure, you can check out the new paint." Stan stood up to throw away his stuff as well, pushing past Kenny, who stood in the doorway scratching his neck idly.

"When did he have time to paint his room with all the moving in?"

"I helped him last night," Stan said.

Kenny scrunched his eyebrows. "Really?" He asked in confusion. "Why?"

Stan shrugged. "He was too clumsy to do it alone - after he picked me up at football practice yesterday he had a shit ton of paint in his hair." Not stopping to check Kenny's reaction as he started to walk to the stairs, Stan didn't wait for Kenny to follow.

"Maybe he did it all on purpose to con you into helping his sorry ass."

"What would the point of that be?" Stan asked.

"He wants in your pants. Just like I do." Kenny slapped Stan's ass on their way up the stairs, Stan automatically knowing not to bother giving a reaction, since that was almost sure to give Kenny the idea of throwing Stan down onto the ground.

"Maybe you should go to Bebe's first if you're so horny." Stan led Kenny into Craig's room slowly, peering through at first as if wondering if he'd be caught. Not that he'd been banned by Craig from entering, but he couldn't imagine Craig not minding when he wasn't even home to give an answer.

"I'm just kidding, buddy. I've only got eyes for Kyle," Kenny commented, throwing an arm casually around Stan's shoulders as they stood in Craig's room, observing the place. Since the paint was new and the top coat hadn't been done yet, the posters were laying flat on the floor beside Craig's bed, but those were the only out of place objects. The rest of the place was spotless and even the bed was made perfectly.

"Weird," Kenny noticed as he walked over to the bedside table.

"What?" Stan walked closer, tipping his head sideways to try and see whatever Kenny thought he'd stumbled upon. On closer inspection, there was something interesting there. There was a plastic bag sticking out a little from the draw, only barely visible considering it's transparency. Kenny opened the draw without asking if Stan thought it'd be too much, but after going through Craig's things, Stan was glad he hadn't been asked. Missing that kind of information would have been a downer.

With the entire draw out of the bedside table and in Kenny's hands, Stan peered inside doubtfully. He didn't know what he'd expected to be in the bag - maybe loose colored pencils since Craig liked to draw or something similarly inconspicuous enough to be put in that obvious of a place. Instead, the bag held weed and only weed. Next to the bag was a small pipe, maybe six inches long, and there were other interesting things as well. Kenny pulled out a small bottle of lube with a comical expression, eyes wide and teeth showing as his mouth dropped in glee.

"He's fucking dudes." Kenny quickly dropped the bottle back into the draw, as if he'd be stung with other guys' germs by touching it.

"He's not gay," Stan said in disbelief. "He's got a poster of Uma Thurman on his wall." He was referring to the Pulp Fiction movie poster. Actually, it was on the floor at the moment.

Kenny paced over to the floor where the framed posters were stacked, eyeing them warily. His fingers lightly tapped on one, him chuckling at it's contents. "And one of Brad Pitt, dude. And Jake Gyllenhaal." Giddy with his supposed discovery, Kenny laid the posters back on the ground and shrugged his shoulders. "Man, that explains _so_ much."

Stan grimaced, one Fight Club poster and one Donnie Darko one were hardly a representation of a sexual orientation. "He has those because he likes weird movies."

"Don't try to protect him because he's your brother." Kenny was still grinning, now taking out his own personal baggy of weed to begin rolling a joint.

Stan sighed. "Half brother."

"If you combine the half brother and step brother titles together, you basically have one _whole_ brother," Kenny said intellectually, as if he had studied the topic.

Stan didn't bother to correct him. Sticking the draw back in the table himself, he glared at Kenny expectantly. "Don't smoke in here, go in my bedroom."

"Fine, not that it matters. This whole room reeks like pot, dude."

Stan wasn't going to argue that either. He had a point.

* * *

><p>After an hour and a half of he and Kenny smoking in Stan's bedroom, lounging on his bed and chuckling while they watched Workaholics on Stan's laptop, Kenny was ready to go. His eyes were a little red, but nothing too conspicuous, and he licked his lips as he jumped off the bed in one heavy motion. Feet stomping down onto the wooden floor, he nodded silently at Stan in a decisive sort of way. Stan watched in confusion, eyes feeling heavy as he tried to work out in his head if he'd asked Kenny a question and <em>that<em> was why he was nodding, or if Kenny just liked to confuse Stan when he was high.

"Alright," Kenny said. "I'm off to Bebe's. Tell Craig if he's interested in paying for his supply from now on in blow jobs, he's welcome to." Grinning in his regular lazy manner, if a bit more loose around the edges now, he turned and walked out the door without waiting for Stan to think of a response.

Left alone to ponder the meaning of life as he normally did when stoned, Stan quickly became distracted and realized very suddenly that he was _starving_. He sprinted downstairs with a newfound excitement. _Cookies_. Stan should make cookies.

He first took out the carton of eggs and then the milk - rummaging around in the cabinets for the right kind of mix. They had only sugar cookie mix, but that was fine by Stan, so long as the cookie dough itself would taste good. Cookie dough was the best shit ever. It was easily ten times better than any finished cookie would ever be.

As he mixed the bowl with hazy vision, he sung a song by The Strokes under his breath that he didn't remember the title of - only knew that it was one of the one's that Craig had played the night before. Regardless of his high, he made sure to use the stove accordingly, not wanting to waste any time between cooking and eating. However, he saved some of the cookie dough in the bowl and decided that while he waited for the cookies to be done - the smell already filling up the room deliciously - he wanted to eat the cookie dough now.

Pulling a spoon from the drawer in front of him, he stuck it into the bowl and probably enjoyed the taste too much, because he thought he'd heard someone groan, but maybe that'd just been his imagination.

However, he'd been right. Whipping around with the spoon hanging unattractively out of his mouth, Stan came to notice Craig's presence in the kitchen. He hadn't even heard the front door open.

"That smells fucking awesome," Craig declared, and Stan realized at once something important. He realized that Craig had a sort of nice yellow glow about him, with messy black hair in tufts that looked like the perfect hair for grabbing onto, and he was definitely attracted to Craig. Craig's under eye circles looked a little more obvious than usual, whether because he hadn't slept much, or because Stan was paying too much attention to Craig's face.

With a normal-paced stroll up to Stan, Craig squinted in Stan's face. "Are you on something?"

Stan's lips quivered upward and he laughed in a weirdly high-pitched way that he wasn't used to hearing himself make. His hand quickly covered his mouth, trying to keep his expression neutral. "No, why do you ask?"

Craig grimaced, and it made him look older and sadder. Stan's face dropped almost immediately and suddenly he didn't want to laugh. His high took on a sort of strange melancholy edge and he felt nostalgic for something he couldn't really place. He used his hands to lift himself up onto the counter top, hoping the height might make him feel more useful, instead of looking at Craig and knowing he wasn't going to be any sort of help to the twisted expression his mouth wore. Stan dropped the spoon in the bowl he'd been using, downfallen.

Craig was pushing buttons on the coffee maker, keeping his eyes on the machine and not on Stan, which Stan was immensely grateful for. The room sort of slipped into a position where the floor and everything else tilted to the right. Stan set his eyes on something immobile to keep himself steady so he wouldn't tip off of the counter: Craig.

Then, Craig moved what seemed very suddenly, and Stan felt sick. He didn't feel as if he was going to puke, it was more like something in his stomach dropped elevator-style and now he awaited the second drop to let him know that his feet were on the solid ground.

Craig moved forward as if he were floating, stopping short in front of Stan's knees with a heavy sigh. "I need the coffee beans," he declared, but his voice was fuzzy and Stan couldn't understand the meaning behind his words.

He leaned forward to hear more clearly and Craig repeated himself until his eyes were harsh and Stan felt guilty that he was in the way. Until he realized that he shouldn't be. Craig didn't need to be so stern and heavy-hearted. In frustration from Stan refusing to move, Craig's fist hit the cabinet above Stan's shoulder and Stan's focus slipped a little. He began to fall forward, had to grab a fist full of Craig's stupid navy sweater to steady himself.

"What are you doing?" Craig asked, obviously unaware of Stan's current predicament.

"Nothing," Stan murmured, finally releasing Craig's sweater.

"Well, let me get to the coffee beans, then, Marsh." Craig's hand was still on the cabinet, but Stan's head needed the same cabinet to lean on or else he'd fall over. Couldn't Craig see that?

"Sorry," Stan muttered. His knees knocked themselves into Craig's thighs. With Craig normally being taller than Stan and Stan now on the counter, they were at eye-level. With Craig's height making it easy for Stan to keep their eyes locked, he knew he should feel a little claustrophobic. Craig licked his lips, expression still hard.

He didn't.

He took the spoon from the bowl and put it back into his mouth, refusing to look away from Craig, who looked to be nearly angry enough to murder Stan. Stan only grinned a little as things became less cloudy and tilted, able to finally lift his head off the cabinet a little of his own free will.

"Move, Marsh." Craig's arm was aligned with Stan's cheek and Stan felt loose-limbed enough to want to nuzzle it.

"Marsh."

Stan giggled again, eyes twinkling. Craig leaned forward with a predator's aggression, head tipping down so his chin seemed sharper. But the tufts in his hair kept his appearance looking innocent, like he was only pretending to be angry.

"Move."

Stan licked around the spoon, knees opening so that they surrounded Craig's hips and kept him closed in. Craig didn't look down, but he started to look uncomfortable. Stan didn't dare move again, even if he felt torn between slapping the cookie dough onto Craig's face and wrapping his legs around Craig's skinny waist.

He choose to do neither, and Craig gradually became less dangerous looking, to Stan's relief. Stan lifted slowly away from the cabinet so that Craig's hand could finally slip behind Stan's neck to open it. Fishing for the coffee beans behind Stan's neck kept Craig distracted enough for him not to notice Stan playing with the bottom of Craig's sweater.

Finally setting the beans down onto the counter top, Craig just got back to staring at Stan in disbelief. Stan's thumbs edge into the pockets of Craig's tight jeans and he feels Craig's slight unease heavy in the air.

The bell rings to tell Stan that his cookies are done, but Stan doesn't move, so neither does Craig, still trapped between the two points of Stan's knees.

Then, Elizabeth returns home from the grocery store, kicking the front door open with an audible bang, and Stan lets his legs slip open further so that Craig can escape. By the time she's in the room, Craig is back at the coffee maker and Stan is taking the cookies out of the oven. Elizabeth smiles, totally oblivious, and Stan is almost guilty.

* * *

><p>That night, Randy came home from his Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at nine, and sat with Elizabeth on the couch. Stan sat next to Craig on the small loveseat and it was cramped, but not too bad considering what happened earlier that same day. Craig seemed stiff next to Stan, but eventually his back curved into the cushions and his head dropped to the side while he watched a sci-fi movie that Randy had on. Stan spent more time looking at Craig than at the screen, but because Craig was already half asleep, he didn't notice.<p>

His frame was tall, but thin enough to make him look smaller. There was a heavy blanket thrown over the back of the loveseat that Stan wanted to drape across Craig, but he thought it'd wake him up and weird him out enough for him to get up and go upstairs. After ten minutes of debating whether or not it'd be a stupid idea, he heard Craig almost snuffling in his sleep, and he did throw the blanket gently over Craig. It draped easily across most of Craig's legs and all of his chest, giving Craig the appearance of someone a lot younger. It didn't spread much onto Stan, though Stan isn't cold enough to need it.

Randy looked over, and Stan thought he was going to ask, but he didn't. He was curled up close next to Elizabeth, who looked to be half asleep as well. The parallels were enough to make Stan grimace, but Randy looked too at ease to be angry. He nodded like he was proud that Stan was finally getting along with Craig.

Stan was actually a bit guilty.

When he woke up, Craig wasn't next to him, and it was pitch black in the living room. His shoulders were cold, so he pulled up the blanket that'd been put around his chest and lap up a little. It wasn't until morning when he woke up for the second time that he wondered who had put the blanket on top of him.

* * *

><p>The next morning at the breakfast table, Randy and Elizabeth announced that they were going on a weekend retreat. They'd be heading out that Monday afternoon for a bed and breakfast, leaving Stan and Craig alone until the next evening.<p>

Over their plates of bacon and bowls of cereal, Stan and Craig's eyes meet. Stan supposed by now, assuming that Kenny had conned Bebe into throwing her house party that night, that Craig knew about the event. It was highly unlikely he wouldn't be going, since everyone did, making for one easy night. This way, they wouldn't even have to worry about stumbling home in the morning squinting at lights and complaining of headaches.

Stan flashed a smile at Craig with his mouth full of half-chewed Fruit Loops, but Craig merely shot Stan an unamused look.

If Stan didn't know better, he'd say that it'd been awhile since Craig must have smoked, but that couldn't have been true. Then, he thought of Kenny's ranting about his sexual libido and how he needed to get laid frequently to be happy and it all made sense. A flash of Craig's lube flitted through Stan's mind and he choked heavily on his bacon. Randy clapped him on his back and Craig stared, clearly not impressed.

Today would probably be a very long day.


	3. The Good Times Are Killing Me

Just for a head's up, I'm not really sure if I'll be able to update much until I'm out for the summer. Also, these chapters are fucking long. Yeah. But I'll be out in like three weeks, so I'll have to start the fourth chapter by then. Anyway, do you like this chapter? I get that it's a little confusing because literally the whole thing is in one house, but this was the first chapter I wrote for this story and I really enjoyed writing it.

**Modest Mouse track of the chapter: "**The Good Times Are Killing Me"

**Otherwise: **"Tell Me In The Morning" by Cold War Kids

**Song during party:** "Not Your Fault" by AWOLNATION

* * *

><p>Luckily for Stan and Craig, the night of their parents' bed and breakfast outing coincided with Bebe's house party. That day in school Craig avoided Stan like the plague, which Stan wasn't sure was something he was thankful for or not. However, he was sure that Craig would be going to Bebe's that night regardless - <em>everyone<em> was.

Although many South Park kids tried to master the perfect house party environment to drag out as many different groups as possible - from the football team and the religious kids to the student council and the LGBT kids. Yet, very few had ever accomplished so much. One who never failed was Bebe Stevens.

Bebe was just all-American enough to be the kind of cheerleader who could rally all of the bonehead athletes to her parties, just witty enough to ensure the student council of a good time, just kind enough to draw out the hardcore Christians - who would stumble in halfway through the event to make it seem like a accident - and just bi-curious enough to promise the LGBT kids a showing of her and Wendy Testaburger making out, which happened more often than you'd think.

Stan never showed up early enough to be sure of the exact procedure. He didn't know if there were pleasantries exchanged before the binge drinking began, couldn't bother to guess if small talk was explored before the bongs were pulled out of truck beds. He usually got to Bebe's already half drunk and left barely coherent enough to remember his own address.

Still, he was looking forward to that night, although he'd go and occasionally feel like a loner. His group of friends wasn't a totally solid one, with most every person floating in and out of other groups as they felt necessary.

Cartman hung out with Token for his expensive sports gear and video game collection. Kenny often smoked up with Butters and Tweak, as well as hitting up Bebe for booty calls. Even Kyle had other allegiances - he spent a fair amount of time organizing student council field trips with Wendy and finding practical ways to tackle school issues with her as well. It always struck Stan as humorous that Cartman told Wendy she'd grow up to be a complete hippie, who would wear her hair long and braided and smoke a lot of weed, which all was true now. The only distinction was that she also maintained a 4.0 gpa and was the head of student council and in line to get into a semi-ivy league university.

He remembered stumbling upon Craig's pipe the week before and wondering if that was Craig's choice of party preference. Usually Stan wasn't one for pot at parties - it made him too sleepy to dance and too mellow to want to get drunk - but he liked it fine in private. He normally only smoked with Kenny every few weeks to de-stress. He couldn't help but try and remember where Craig was in Bebe's house on one of these occasions. Where did the stoners go, anyway? Kenny tended to float between the living room and backyard, though Stan wouldn't know what happened out there because he'd never been. Maybe that was where Craig mostly stayed, seeing as Stan didn't recall observing him in the living room or kitchen - dancing or drinking. Stan himself was one for the kitchen, a creature of habit who was fine with the same old routine of doing shots with Kyle and Cartman, as well as Bebe or Kenny if they felt like it.

The other major stoners that Stan knew of were Tweak - who, for instance, only acted normal when stoned out of his mind - as well as Wendy the Hippie, Butters, Jimmy, Shelley - who was then a surprisingly kind and unaggressive type - and the younger generation. The next in line were as so: Karen, Ike, and Filmore, while the others Stan didn't know of or care to.

The drunks were as followed: Stan himself, Kyle, Cartman, Red, Token, Henrietta and her goth following, and the rest of the losers who would frequent. Then there were those who feel somewhere in between the two, for example: Kenny, Bebe, and Clyde, who more or less inbibed in whatever came in their direction.

Most times Stan could only remember snippets of the night before - Bebe and Clyde falling down drunk and laughing in the kitchen while dropping stacks of pizza boxes, Kenny and Karen chasing Ike and Filmore down hallways and into the bathroom toting water guns, Token accidentally tripping and knocking over Red , who would take down Token and Butters with her. Then a flashback of him and Kyle witnessing another argument between Cartman and Wendy over her "cheap hippie smell" or yet another fist fight between Kenny and that night's angry boyfriend who'd seen him provocatively dancing with his long-term girlfriend.

Thinking over these memories, he jogged to try and make it on time to US History II, but actually ran into Craig. Only this wasn't the type of running into someone where you just happen upon some unforeseen long lost friend. He literally ran straight on into Craig's chest, face just about into Craig's neck, and sent Craig flying to the floor.

"Are you shitting me, Marsh?" Craig snarled, legs stretched out over art supplies - a ziplock bag full of colored pencils and a large sketch pad - head on the floor next to Stan's shoulder.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Stan groaned and pushed himself up, knees accidentally snapping a colored pencil while in the process. He winced and picked his iPod up off the ground by the long earphones, now blaring Nirvana out of them from their spot tangled up in Craig's own earphones.

"For fuck's sake," Craig muttered in anger, fingers hurriedly untangling them. Suddenly he stopped, eyes locked on Stan's earphones while Stan stood above him, holding his iPod in confusion.

"What?" Stan asked.

Craig just shook his head, hauling himself up, but tripped on the two halves of the colored pencil Stan had broken and ended up back on the floor. He lost his iPod during the fall and it slid over to Stan's feet. On picking it up, Stan promptly froze.

"We were both listening to 'In Bloom'," he announced. Craig only growled, sticking out his hand for his iPod back while he still sat on the floor.

"Loads of people listen to Nirvana," he said, clearly not impressed, shaking his head and attempting to get back up once again.

"Yeah, but I have like two thousand songs on my iPod and don't you have double that?"

Craig stood very still, pursing his lips. "You're right," he nodded, voice monotone. "It's a miracle, maybe even a sign from God."

"Don't be an asshole," Stan bit out.

"Don't be a moron."

Needless to say, Stan was ready and itching to get drinking by noon that day.

* * *

><p>It was very rare that kids went to Bebe's house parties in a car - even if they were from out of town. It was custom to see a few people straggling behind the crowds stumbling home in the early morning who ended up staying the night on her couches and floor. They were rumored to wake up later that day wearing only one shoe and sporting obnoxious pizza sauce stains. Even Stan had crashed at Bebe's before, passing out next to a sweaty and heavily breathing Kenny and coming to next to an empty keg, someone's cheap bear bottle opener belt, and a leather wallet with no money left in it.<p>

So, when Craig left the house in his car when Bebe lived next door and he was bound to get inebriated enough later to not be fit to drive, Stan was confused. However, he showed again within an hour with Clyde and Token in tow, carrying pizza boxes in stacks. At Bebe's door, Clyde popped the collar of his green button-up shirt and knocked on the door with a graceless movement. Stan craned his neck out of his window in time to see Bebe open up her door for the three of them, kiss Clyde on the cheek, and gesture them in. So, Clyde wanted in Bebe's pants and had rounded up a group of his friends to help him get the pizza for her. At least now he understood why Craig had opted on taking his car out.

And Stan didn't mean to be cruel, but he was sure Clyde wouldn't exactly have a hard time getting into her pants. Bebe was infamous for sleeping around - with Kenny on many an occasion, with Tweak once when he wanted to lose his virginity, had attempted to sleep with Kyle more than once to his chagrin, and was rumored to have fooled around with Wendy a couple of times.

Stan figured it was time for him to leave in order to make it to Harbucks in time to meet up with Kyle before the party then. He made a beeline for his two bottles, and after slipping them into his messenger bag, tossed it over his shoulder. Walking down the street listening to the bottles clank - the well-known sound of Jack meeting Shirley - Stan winced and tried his best to adjust the bag so as to not draw attention to himself. Although Barbrady was a completely oblivious and useless cop, he was still known for taking pleasure in stopping kids to check for anything illegal for the sake of holding power over them, and he wasn't fond of the idea of losing the alcohol that had cost a lot for someone who didn't work, namely himself. So, he tipped his dad's supposedly missing flask up to his lips and trudged on down the street with as much normalcy as he could commit himself to.

Kyle was inside, pre-gaming already as well with an alcohol-based cappuccino, compliments of Tweak. The only server at that time of night, Tweak let everyone inside inconspicuously spike their own coffee and roll their own joints under the table because he must have noticed that the patrons were all from his high school. As much happened the same every night of a house party, with everyone in Harbucks making a pit-stop there before heading to Bebe's and figuring on calling it their safe place to pre-game with good company. Stan wasn't as surprised as he would have been at Tweak's slightly elevated normal behavior due to his clutching of a coffee mug that Stan could have guessed too held an extra ingredient.

"So, where's Kenny?" Stan asked as a greeting, while he flicked his wrist to tip some alcohol into his hot chocolate.

Kyle sighed, crossing his legs under the table in a fairly prissy manner, although Kyle had been referred to as prissy before without much argument. "Probably off gallivanting somewhere with Butters to pick up some weed."

"Gallivanting?" Stan's eyebrows raised.

"SAT word," Kyle supplied, licking the whipped cream from his straw.

Stan's eye roll commenced before he noticed the intake of a milk-based item. "Hey, are you okay to have that?" He asked while eyeing Kyle's cup.

"Yes, Sheila. I already took a pill. You should have seen Tweak come racing over here when I pulled out the bottle. He said anything more than the alcohol couldn't be taken inside because it was 'way too much pressure' and his eyes were bugging out. I had to explain that it was for my health."

Stan laughed. "Sorry I missed that, man. I was trying to smuggle my Jack Daniels and Wendy's Shirtley Temple mix here without alerting any passerbys of any imminent threats." He gestured towards his bag on the ground.

"Why do you still do Wendy's bidding when you're not even dating her anymore?" Kyle asked, giving Stan's bag a jingle to test the noise before downing the rest of his cappuccino. "Could you get me a refill?"

"Why do I do _your_ bidding when _we're_ not dating anymore?" Stan grinned. "Go pay for my refill, Stan. Go fetch me my insulin, Stan. Jerk me off again, Stan," he continued in a mocking tone.

"You fucking dipshit," Kyle said, not able to hold back a laugh. He stood, "I'll get my own refill."

"If you're _sure_, honey," Stan teased.

"Fuck off," Kyle drawled.

* * *

><p>Things weren't at all in full swing when they showed, both Stan and Kyle still feeling completely sober. Kenny and Cartman were setting up the keg in the kitchen and hooking up the nozzle, looking a little too sweaty and tired for so early in the night. It was, after all, barely nine o'clock. Ike and Filmore were in the living room, sitting on the couch watching some bad comedy with a topless girl showcased, neither of them misbehaving yet.<p>

"Ike, darling, be a dear and get Uncle Kenny his pack of cigarettes from your back pocket?" Well, maybe it was late enough for the misbehaving to begin after all.

Ike grimaced, turning his head to look at Kenny from the next room over. "You saw that, did you?" He brought the carton over to Kenny, who was lounging on the door frame with a smug expression.

He ruffled Ike's hair and grinned, pulling a cigarette out from the carton. "Now give your Uncle Kenny a kiss?"

Ike just laughed, flipping Kenny off with his back turned already, heading back to the couch and the topless girl on TV.

"You've got one feisty brother there, Kyle," Kenny mentioned, moving back to the kitchen counter next to Kyle. He took a drag from his cigarette while Bebe looked on with a glare. Despite all the drinking and eating and dancing, she still remained strict on her smoking rule. That is, there was no smoking of any kind allowed inside, unless it was Wendy doing the smoking. That was probably why Kenny was often out in the backyard, presumably with the other stoners. She walked out in stride, most likely to grab something for the party.

"Fuck you." Kyle began pouring himself a drink, shaking his head angrily and taking it a few feet backwards to the sink.

Oh, Christ. They never fought.

"Kyle?" Kenny asked, face written with confusion as he turned around to face Kyle, who breathed out loudly through his nose and raised his eyebrows in expectant impatience.

"Let Kenny fix it," Kenny advised with outstretched arms as he made his way closer to Kyle. Surprisingly, Kyle let his head drop onto Kenny's shoulder and even brought his hands up to Kenny's shoulder blades.

Kenny had always been a touchy-feely guy, constantly throwing his arm over the shoulders of Stan and Kyle, never ceasing to use friendly one-armed tough guy hugs and the like, but this was different. He brought up a hand to place on the back of Kyle's neck and let his chin drop to Kyle's head. They must have just stood there hugging almost romantically for an entire minute before Bebe came waltzing back in from the front door, holding up an iPod Touch like it was a trophy. Wendy trailed behind her, hair still in braids from school, just starting to loosen at the nape of her neck, showing off her tan shoulders in an exposing gray tank top that gave a good show of the small amount of cleavage she had. She carried a bag of chips and a bag of pretzels under her armpit with one arm and with the other, used her hand to lift up a joint to her mouth, inhaling deeply with her thin cheeks appearing sunken, while Cartman looked on, snorting.

"Could you make me a drink, Stan?" Wendy asked, strolling into the kitchen to stand awkwardly beside Kenny and Kyle, who were now standing with touching shoulders and hips against the sink.

"That pussy Shirley Temple and a teaspoon of alcohol mix?" Cartman clarified. "I can make it for you. Stan has bigger fish to fry."

"Excuse me?" Stan asked, wanting to be amused, but finding it difficult when it came to Cartman, who still loved a good sabotage.

"Craig told me to find some losers who showed up early to help him and Clyde set up outside. So I'm recruiting you, the Jew, and Mr. Four Loko over there to help start the bonfire in the backyard with those assholes ."

"I haven't touched that shit since the Twister Disaster of December, I'll have you know!" Kenny shouted as he pulled Kyle along by the sleeve toward the direction of the backyard, which was led to through a door down the hallway from the living room. Stan followed with a less brazen quality, not too eager to be around Craig after several recent events.

"You said you wouldn't bring that up again, Ken," Bebe reminded him solemnly.

"Sorry, Bebe. Won't happen again."

"It better not," Kyle warned as they crossed the door to the backyard. "You threw up on me and poor Filmore that night."

"Don't be overdramatic," Kenny scolded. "I barely got your shoes."

"I was washing Pop-Tarts out of my hair for a week!"

"Oh, those must have been Filmore's shoes," Kenny mumbled.

Outside in Bebe's backyard, Craig and Clyde were lounging in beach chairs, lime green and hot pink stripes and all. They were both holding old fashioned Coke bottles in their hands and Craig had his maroon corduroy jacket on was laughing at something Clyde has said. Stan had never much considered it before, but he realized that Craig and Clyde were total opposites for such good friends. Clyde was a basketball player who wore American Eagle-like brands and never stopped trying to impress girls with his stupid puns about the Periodic Table and Craig was a sketch artist who listened to obscure bands and never seemed to be concerned about anything other than his own disinterest in whatever was going on. Craig sat in his chair, playing with his earphones that were looped around his neck and tied in a knot at his chest. Instead of his usual loafers, he wore brown work boots with striped yellow and brown laces like hikers wore.

"These boots were made for walkin'," Kenny drawled in a thick Southern accent, akin to his mother's natural one. "An' that's just what they'll do." He walked in a swagger over to where Craig sat and smirked, toeing Craig's work boot with his one beat-up leather one. "An' one of these days these boots-"

"Shut the fuck up, McCormick," Craig advised, lips drawn into a snarl.

"Seriously, though, what's with the boots? Smokey the Bear called - said I should tell everyone I see that he's looking for his missing pumped up kicks. Should we be worried about_ all the other kids _who better run from you and your gun tonight?"

Kyle actually chuckled under his breath, but Stan was the only one who heard with them being the only ones still standing awkwardly by the door. Stan would have laughed himself if he didn't fear Craig's hostile facial expression so much.

"Clyde and I had to bring in the keg. I didn't want to risk breaking my foot if we dropped it on my feet in my normal shoes." Craig looked the kind of pissed guard dogs look when trying to play nice with the burglar that enters his family's home. "But speaking of Smokey the Bear-" He drawled, voice full of dark undertones.

"Yeah, yeah, Tucker. I got the goods, you greedy little pot head." He tossed Craig a small baggy from his pocket, which landed in Craig's lap. "That'll be ten bucks." Craig glared even more, but paid up, tossing a bill in Kenny's general direction.

"Your business is appreciated. Do either of you know where Tweakers is? He owes me for double." It was a well-known fact in South Park that Tweak was a heavy pot smoker. Nevertheless, his parents did nothing despite knowing. Stan expected it was because they were more appreciative of his mellow side than his anxious one. It was actually really sad, but at least Tweak didn't seem to let it bother him. Then again, maybe he was high too much to notice.

"He's still at Harbucks," Kyle answered. "Said he was leaving at ten."

"You went to Harbucks without me?' Kenny pouted, part real disappointment and part acting. He stuffed his hands in his parka pockets and leaned back on his heels.

"Sorry, did you want something?" Kyle asked him, obviously taken aback.

"No, but we could have hung out earlier."

"I thought you were on a pot run with Butters."

"Yeah, but he bailed to go pick up Tweak half an hour before we were getting it."

"Oh, we must have just missed him," Stan supplied, trying to help. It was obvious there was tension here for some reason and he was feeling pretty uncomfortable in the middle of it, also pretty sure that Craig and Clyde felt the same while they sat there staring with crinkled eyebrows, not sure what to make of it.

"You were with Stan?" Kenny asked, pouting again in probably more mockery than actually being hurt. "Why do you love Stan more than me? Is it the Pop-Tarts, Kyle? Cause I can splurge for pancakes next time. We can go to I-HOP."

"Oh, Jesus, Kenny." Kyle shook his head, grinning, but probably a little uncomfortable with the teasing in front of Craig and Clyde, who weren't used to their group's normal and blatant teasing of the romantic nature.

"That's what you said the night _before_ the pancakes." Kenny laughed as Kyle turned pink, covering his face with his hands while he shook his head again.

"Hilarious. Let's start the bonfire, though, before everyone gets here."

Stan looked around at Craig's raised eyebrows, Clyde's curious expression, and Kenny's smug grin and couldn't help feel like he was missing something.

* * *

><p>"Fuck yeah, Bebe!" Clyde called out from across the room to where Bebe stood, her thin frame hunched over Wendy stomach from where her best friend laid on the kitchen's island, doing a body shot off of Wendy's bare skin.<p>

Stan stood in the doorway next to Cartman, watching the party-goers in action. By now, most of South Park High was there, either in the living room dancing under limited light, smoking outside by the bonfire, or watching the chaos currently happening in the kitchen.

Bebe continued to lick up alcohol of some sort from Wendy's stomach, Wendy not helping her by refusing to stay still, howling with silent laughter while her chest went up and down, hair wildly dancing across little puddles of spilt beer on the counter.

"No good dirty stoner hippie, probably chock full of HIV and lung cancer," Cartman sneered in a mutter, drowning a shot of something golden.

"You're only upset because you wish you were Bebe right now," Stan easily informed Cartman, too fed up with all the bullshit to tolerate his friend's insane behavior. It was just as well that Cartman would probably walk away from him now, seeing as he should really check on Kyle. His best friend was over in the corner of the room, hunched over on himself and trying to keep his head away from Token and Clyde, who were both hollering loudly and in approval of the two inebriated girls in the middle of the room.

"You know what, Stan? You're totally right." Cartman threw back one more murky shot before sauntering over to Wendy and Bebe, Wendy still giggling madly although Bebe was finally backing away in order to start sucking Clyde's face.

"Oh, Christ," Stan murmured to himself, pulling over his bottle of Jack from the counter to carry it with him so as to make sure nobody would swipe it. "I am not nearly drunk enough for this." As he made his way over to Kyle, he made sure to avoid all sights of Cartman slurping vodka from Wendy's belly button that would be sure to make him sick at best or scar him for life at worst.

"Hey," He shouted over the pounding bass coming from the kitchen, "Are you alright?" He threw an arm over Kyle's shoulder to keep him up, trying to get a good look at Kyle's face which was currently pointed at the floor.

"I think I may have overdid it," Kyle said, clutching at his stomach. "I need some air."

After hauling Kyle to Bebe's backyard, including a pit stop by her bushes for a false alarm, he had safely delivered Kyle to a smothering Kenny.

"Kyle!" Kenny had shouted from his place on the ground, stargazing between Tweak and Butters. "What's wrong with him?"

"Feel sick," Kyle mumbled, putting all of his weight on Stan for support.

Kenny got up quickly and pulled over Bebe's porch swing to sit Kyle down on. While they were ignored by a majority of the stoned kids there, who's smoke got carried away in the wind like the ashes did from the fire, Butters stood up, appearing concerned.

"Did he eat at all tonight?" Kenny asked, raising a hand up to judge the warmth of Kyle's pale forehead.

"Shit, I didn't even think of that," Stan answered. He watched Kenny purse his lips for a moment before calling out for pizza. Several people answered, but none they could separate from the crowd. Thankfully, Butters came over holding a pizza box with a lot of bacon pizza left in it. He'd taken it from a stack two feet high from the back of the fire. If it was one thing you could count on stoners to have besides drugs, it was a lot of food.

"Thanks, Butters," Kenny said before supplying the pizza to Kyle. He sat down next to Kyle on the swing and lifted up Kyle's legs to throw them over his own lap, watching Kyle eat with dark eyes.

Stan turned around to see what his other options were before him besides standing in front of Kenny cuddling Kyle, watching Kyle eat and speaking to nobody. Craig was in the corner of the group, a little ways apart from everyone else. He was blowing smoke out all around him with an open mouth, his hair looking darker than even normal in contrast with the pale fog framing his face, his eyes fluttering closed as if he were falling asleep. It was a far cry from the excitement of the thumping floorboards in Bebe's living room and the screaming cries coming from her kitchen. Stan looked back to Kenny - face set as stiff as a statue's while he looked on into Kyle's eyes - before walking over to Craig from his spot on the ashy ground. Craig had his boots together at the toes and was bringing them apart and then back together as if he had some beat stuck in his head, his mouth partially open like he wanted to mouth the lyrics.

"Marsh," Craig said as a greeting, slowly opening his eyes back up.

"Tucker," Stan mimed back sipping straight from his bottle. Craig still kept his eyes not fully open, his focus lingering on Stan's fingers, which were making circles around the bottle's rim.

"Swig?" Stan offered, holding up the Jack Daniels as a gesture.

Craig shook his head, but reached out his own hand to offer Stan his joint. "Drag?" His eyebrows raised when Stan accepted, inhaling from it once deeply.

"You smoke?" Craig asked, licking his bottom lip.

"Did you except me to start coughing?"

Craig laughed from behind his fist, fingers idly scratching at his stubble there. "Yeah, maybe."

"I smoke with Kenny once every few weeks," Stan clarified, still perching the joint between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Speaking of McCormick, how's his boyfriend?" Craig wondered aloud, voice completely monotone.

"What?"

"He looks green enough to be puking right now." On cue, Kyle was huddled over himself again, his back to Kenny's face while he lurched over the side of the porch swing. Puking.

"Kyle's not gay, you idiot. They're not dating."

Still, turned again to take their body language in. Kenny was looping his arms around Kyle's waist, Kyle shoving the pizza box off of his lap to accommodate Kenny's movements. Kenny slowly guided Kyle's face into his neck, nose to Kenny's adam's apple.

"You don't have to be gay to screw around with a guy. Or to be dating one either." Craig crossed his arm between Stan's to reclaim his blunt. He let his head drop back to the ground, leaving his hand by his side, too close to Stan's side for him to not worry about it lighting Stan's jeans on fire.

"Interesting," Stan observed, edging an inch away from Craig. Studying his face, Stan laid back down as well, thinking hard.

"You thought I was straight?" Craig asked with a light smirk, eyes shut, as if the very thought of someone assuming he was straight was preposterous.

"You're not?" Stan was in disbelief.

"Gimme a swig of that," Craig ordered, eyeing the vodka with suddenly open eyes and a contemplative frown, maybe wishing he'd been less honest.

"I've never seen you show so many facial expressions in one sitting before and I live with you," Stan spoke with a grin, passing the Jack.

"I let my guard down when I'm stoned," Craig drawled, a small chuckle following, teeth shining dimly in the low light. He took a slow sip, then pushed the vodka back into Stan's lap.

"Then we'll have to keep a decent supply in the house, won't we?"

"Shut it, Marsh. Pass me back that bottle."

"Pass me back that joint," Stan echoed softly.

They both laughed, staring up at the sky with their backs on the ground while a light breeze ruffled Craig's hair so his right eye was mostly obscured. Stan felt the wind edge goosebumps up the back of his neck, the blades of grass tickling the skin there.

"So, you like guys," Stan stated, trying to get used to that fact.

Craig sighed like he was already regretting the decision to let that slip, biting at his lip and gesturing with one hand up. "I don't like every guy I see."

"No shit?" Stan asked in mocking. "You don't just have to hold yourself back every time you're in the locker room? Cause I hear repression is really unhealthy."

"Asshole," Craig laughed, pausing. "Shouldn't have said anything."

"You are what you eat."

"That's fucking disgusting, Marsh." He grabbed his joint out of Stan's hands and inhaled, chuckling. "Shit, that's gross."

"No pun intended, I'm assuming."

Craig inhaled sharply. "Since when have you been so witty?"

"I must be spending too much time with you," Stan announced, stretching out his arms and sitting up so he could check on Kyle.

"You're too kind."

"I try."

Kenny caught his eye from the porch swing, pulling up Kyle with him as he stood. While they walked over, he kept one arm wound loosely around Kyle's waist. Stan wondered if there was any truth to Craig's perspective. He got that Kenny wanted to keep tabs on Kyle if he was sick - nothing weird about that - but all the touching was a little off. Even Kenny didn't try to constantly wind his arms around Stan, or at least if he did it was around his shoulders, not his waist, which did strike him as a little less than platonic.

"Aw, you two are getting along," Kenny noted cheerfully. He looped three fingers through Kyle's belt loop, grinning.

"We're going inside for round two," Kyle announced. "Wanna come?" He interrupted before either Stan or Craig could comment after Kenny's statement.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Stan asked.

"I got it under control," Kenny promised, already starting to tug Kyle away with his fingers still twined inside Kyle's belt loops. Kyle tried to swat Kenny's hand away to no avail while Stan wondered if he should stay with Craig or not. But they were already heading back inside. Kenny started to dance, shaking his shoulders at the doorway with Kyle at his hip, trying to push him into the house by digging his shoulders into Kyle's back.

"I guess they were in too much of a rush to wait for an answer," Stan said with amusement, head tipping back so he could admire the sky while the fire's smoke built up around them.

"I'm good here," Craig voiced softly.

"I never noticed how mellow it was out here. It's nice."

"Yeah, I don't normally venture into the house. I'm not a huge fan of noise so loud you can't hear yourself think."

"I like it," Stan shrugged. "Sometimes there's nothing better than not being able to hear yourself think."

Craig took a drag from the blunt again, smirking into his smoke cloud. "I wouldn't know," he muttered.

"You _have_ to at least try it at least once," Stan declared. "You can't die not knowing that kind of unity. It's awesome."

"You're batshit," Craig snorted beside Stan.

"Look, you try it once and don't like it and you can come back out here and be anti-social some more."

"Why are you peer pressuring me, Marsh?"

Stan tried not to laugh, lips quivering. "Don't you wanna be popular?"

"Are you shitting me? What happened to that little asshole who took on that whole bullying video in the fourth grade?"

"C'mon." Stan stood up, dusting the grass and dirt from his knees.

"Right now?"

"Yeah, why? You busy?"

"Marsh-"

"I'll be your tour guide," Stan promised.

"This is so fucking stupid."

* * *

><p>"Fuck's sake, Marsh. I can't hear anything."<p>

"You have to let it make you forget."

"Forget what?" Craig shouted over the bass, eyes flickering over to the coffee table in the corner of the living room which housed Token, who had Red on his lap - them getting to at least second base. The room was dark enough to conceal it, which was the point, but there had to be others doing worse. Stan could recall, if he thought hard enough, girls being thrown against walls and guys grabbing at their hips - something not too far off from dancing to look enough like it so that nobody said anything. It's not exactly like Bebe has ever kicked anybody out before anyway. Sure, Bebe had kicked Clyde out before for forgetting their anniversary during a party, but it wasn't like she didn't know he snuck back in before it ended. After all, he'd come back in drunk off his ass carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and Bebe's favorite Smirnoff flavor in a bottle, swaying on his feet and shouting how much he loved her. Needless to say, there wasn't much you could do that would be bad enough for Bebe to throw you out of her house. Still, Stan could read Craig enough from over the past few weeks to be able to tell he was uncomfortable with the public displays of affection.

"Forget that you care about anything," Stan clarified, having to yell to be heard, voice going a little hoarse. A smirk spread across his face as he took in his peers' shadows as they danced close enough to create the optical illusion on being one life form. Ninety percent of the time these same kids were the kind that made Stan want to shoot up the school -in a purely hypothetical way - but there was nothing like a house party to bring kids together under one common goal. That goal was simple: forget about everything shitty you have to deal with on a daily basis and just be completely and totally free-spirited and guiltless.

Stan kept one hand on Craig's elbow to make sure he didn't lose him in the crowd. On their way to the kitchen, they passed Brydon Guermo (the theater kid who used to be on the basketball team) basically dry humping one of those girls who used to work for Butters back when he was a pimp in the fourth grade. Wendy sat on a bar stool by the island in the kitchen, swinging her foot slowly back and forth while the other one was stuck beneath her thigh. Cartman was serving as the night's go to bartender, passing off something orange to a girl Stan didn't know - maybe a lower classman - housing one of those little colored umbrellas. Wendy watched him with drooping lids, three fingers wrapped around a joint, the only person allowed to smoke up inside Bebe's house for obvious reasons. In the past, she'd yelled at others for doing it and shoved them outside, but with Wendy she'd pass her every hour or so and take a drag. She'd always be laughing and draping her arms over Wendy's back from behind, curly blonde hair falling over Wendy's shoulders and mixing in with Wendy's dirty black waves, which always made her look like she'd been caught in a wind storm.

"Make them strong, Cartman. We're here to forget our own names." Stan leaned against the island on Wendy's side, trying to avoid the smoke cloud. Craig grinned as he stepped more or less into the middle of it, either purposefully or just because he had a magnetic kind of attraction to it.

"That's the spirit, you little bitch." Cartman cleared his throat, sliding two glasses over to himself from the opposite side of the island, knocking over the bag of tiny umbrellas into Wendy's lap. Wendy fiddled with the bag for a minute before pulling out a green one and sticking it into her own hair, right behind her left ear. Stan smiled, knocking shoulders with her to get her attention. She glanced over her shoulder, pupils dilated.

"Stanley Marsh," She said in a slow stupor, "Let me put an umbrella in your hair."

He shrugged, so she leant over to peer inside the bag to find the right color. She came back up giggling, back stiffening so she could reach up and place a blue one behind his ear, unable to be at eye level with him even on her bar stool. "You look tropical," She murmured, teeth pearly and spitting out smoke from behind the hand holding her blunt.

"Got one in there for Craig?" Stan asked with a laugh. From in front of Wendy, admiring her smoke circle, Craig shook his head.

"Fuck no, Marsh. Who do you think you are?"

Wendy fished through the bag, fingering a neon yellow one when her hand emerged, wrist covered up halfway to her elbow in bronze and hemp bracelets. "C'mere, Tucker. Let's make you pretty."

"No, thanks." Craig backed off a little, glancing off sideways at Bebe and Clyde dancing circles around each other, both holding coveted Red Solo Cups. There were never as many people in the kitchen as in the living room, the backyard acting as the middling point. They were the only other people in the kitchen with Cartman, Wendy, Stan, and Craig. Bebe's hair was a foot shorter than Wendy's elbow-grazing mane, but she moved in a way that made it seem longer. Her back would bend over backwards, head swinging low and hair swaying out like a fan of huge curls. Clyde suddenly pulled her by the waist into his chest, laughing out like a maniac. Cartman was finishing up pouring four drinks for the four of them, one being Wendy's pussy Shirley Temple mix. He watched Clyde and Bebe from the corner of his eye, shaking his head in disappointment. "At least try to be somewhat classy," he muttered. "Beer is for the poor and the dirty."

"Coming from Mr. Cheesy Poofs." Stan took his glass over before Cartman could do something stupid with it because he was insulted. He'd always been prone to throwing fits like a toddler when somehow showed him anything other than thankfulness for being made fun of or traumatized.

Wendy chuckled deeply, inhaling with her right hand, bracelets clinking together. "Fine, bitch," Cartman declared. "I'll give your Shirley Temple to someone else."

"Thank you for the drink, Eric." Wendy batted her eyelashes and was instantly forgiven, regardless of Cartman's muteness. She'd started calling Cartman by his first name somewhere around freshman year when she wanted favors and never really stopped. Now that Stan thought about it, she hardly ever called him Cartman anymore except when he wasn't around and she didn't want to take anybody's shit about it. Cartman just looked down to the counter and swirled a straw into his drink, which had the consistency of a smoothie. He had an equally thick one for Craig, probably some kind of alcoholic beverage for beginners.

"For the newbie." He held out the drink for Craig, who accepted with a murmured thanks, eyebrows knitting as he looked into the coffee colored drink. "Is there anything toxic in this?"

Cartman only grinned in his slightly creepy manor, which Stan was used to and therefore not disturbed by any longer. Wendy grimaced up at him, then peering back down into her Shirley Temple mix and adding a pink umbrella to it for show.

They stood around drinking and talking about middle school memories for at least an hour, Cartman promoting a complete re-telling of the time he shit on Mr. Garrison's desk, remembered after Stan had mentioned his Asshole Disorder with a chuckle. Wendy was obviously not impressed, but she did laugh along with them all, even with Craig who looked a lot more cheerful after two of Cartman's smoothies.

Shelley and Ruby came in after awhile, both showing off shining wet foreheads and dripping hair. They held water pistols to their sides tightly, glancing around dramatically as they ran into the room, breathing out heavily. Stan guessed the guns were from the secret spot in Bebe's sock draw that Kenny was always talking about. Apparently the same draw also housed a discarded box full of people's leftover shit from parties. There was supposedly one bong, at least ten lighters, packs of unopened condoms by the dozen, three pairs of thongs and one pair of boxers drenched in alcohol smell, even some fire crackers that hadn't been used. She also kept porn mags, matches, cigarettes, and shot glasses in there to pull out for parties. Stan could guess she must have had a vibrator or two because of all the in-depth stories Kenny told him and Kyle on a nearly week to week basis.

"You seen Butters or Filmore?" Ruby asked the group, focusing on Cartman and Wendy, who were usually the ones in the kitchen. Then, she speculatively stared at her brother, confusion spreading over her face. "Why aren't you in the backyard?" She asked in disbelief.

"I'm bonding with Marsh here," Craig said truthfully, smitten on his drink. Stan tried to keep the impending smile from growing on his face, pressing his lips together while he quickly brought up his glass of beer. He wasn't usually one for beer, probably because he'd grown such a tolerance over the years, but he poured one tonight partially to spite Cartman and partially to keep himself from getting too plastered on solely vodka.

"Why isn't Karen with you?" Stan asked Shelley across the room, his sister standing by the sink to wring out a hand towel against her face.

"She's in the backyard making out with Ike. And don't baby me, twerp. I'm older than you."

"What about Tweek? Was he still in the backyard last time you saw him?" Ruby asked Craig with a serious expression. Craig only shook his head yes, hair getting tangled by the ends as he did. "We're planning an attack," Ruby supplied eagerly.

"Karen and _Ike_?" Stan laughed. "Does Kenny know?"

"No. And don't tell him or Karen will murder you." Shelley began refilling her gun and Ruby's in the sink, not even bothering to threaten Stan with her eyes on him. "And I will be very angry as well by association."

Stan brought his hands up to signal that he wasn't going to get involved. Cartman snorted. "So, the Broflovskis and the McCormicks will be joined by _two _parties now?"

"Christ's sake, Cartman." Stan sighed, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose to pinch himself there. "They're not together. Just because they're close-"

Ruby laughed. "Are you talking about Kenny and Kyle? Karen said Kenny's always sleeping over Kyle's and last weekend he came home limping-"

Stan felt a little sick suddenly, so she dropped his glass onto the table. "Holy shit."

Cartman just chortled loudly, leaning over so his head dropped down near Wendy's. Wendy tried to pass off a laugh for a cough, but it was obviously false. Craig took the opportunity to steal Wendy's blunt from her and take a huge inhale. When he was properly hidden behind smoke, he passed it off to Stan, who he could probably tell even tipsy was upset. Stan tried to focus on breathing in steadily instead of his suddenly pounding head.

Shelley chuckled from the sink, walking over to stand beside Ruby. "Nice drag, Bob Marley." Stan ignored her, feeling a little woozy. They walked out side by side, guns back down at their hips as they went. He passed the joint back to Wendy who happily brought it back up to her open mouth, still smiling from the previous findings. Cartman watched her while tipping back a shot of something, face bright red from laughing so hard.

"Hey," Craig said, mouth slack. "Marsh. How 'bout that umbrella?" Stan sighed heavily and nodded, reaching into the bag still sitting in Wendy's lap for the neon yellow umbrella. It would have perfectly matched the pom pom on the winter hat Craig used to wear, but neither of them were wearing hats now. He scrunched his eyes to see more clearly, leaning close to Craig's face to get the umbrella in the right spot and not stab the pointy end in Craig's ear. Craig's eyes dropped down and shut while Stan licked his lips, gently getting the umbrella to rest in the right spot. When Craig's eyes opened again, nursing his third smoothie, he gulped some down. Peering over Stan's shoulder, his eyes widened and he cleared his throat.

Stan whipped around to see Butters standing in the doorway, snapping pictures away on his fancy camera. He was in Photography this year and planned on going to school for art and English for college because he wanted to be a teacher. He smiled in his lax way, cheeks pink from being noticed, and left just as quickly as he'd come. He slid himself back into the crowd of people in the living room without Stan being able to tell which way he'd gone.

When he turned around he grinned at Craig, who smiled back without teeth, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. Wendy was watching them closely, more observant than anyone else would normally be even stoned. She gave Stan a knowing look, which he ignored by getting more beer to fill his glass with.

On the way to the fridge, the song changed again. It'd been on a loop for most of the night between what Craig would probably call "shitty top forty music" and what he'd definitely call "bad black people music that even Token hates". It was now some fast rock song that sounded deep and pleasant, something Stan could only assume Kenny must have stuck into Bebe's playlist without her noticing. It swelled up from the living room, at first sounding like a lullaby, and into the kitchen where it got heavier and seemed like something Stan would normally find someone to dance with to.

"Shit," Craig said as Stan was coming back to the island with his beer. "I know this song. It's really good."

"You should introduce Craig to the scene," Wendy suggested, tipping her head towards the doorway. "It's like another world in there."

Stan pursed his lips together tightly, afraid to ask for fear of rejection. He could always just go by himself and pick some boozed up sophomore to grind with, but it wouldn't be the same. Instead of voicing anything, he tipped his head toward the doorway, giving Craig raised eyebrows.

"I'll take that tour now, Marsh."

* * *

><p><em>Baby, when I'm yelling at you, it's not your fault. It's not your fault, yeah. And baby, cause I'm crazy for you, it's not your fault. It's not your fault, yeah. And maybe I'm a little confused. It's not your fault, it's not your fault. Yeah. <em>

Stan felt a little easier taking Craig by the elbow now, tipsy and getting progressively more confident. The crowd was so clustered and it almost pulsed, somehow hard to get into the middle, but easy to stay there while everyone moved in the same way. There were different people dancing differently, some straight up grinding, some just holding hips or hands, some with hair covering their faces to really move. Still, nobody looked at more than one person at once and it made it easier to find your place. Stan fit in along two juniors who were getting dangerously close, them pushing back on Stan enough to, on a certain rhythm, edge him right into Craig and then back away repetitively. With so little room, at any given time Craig was at least touching him by the arms or shoulders, giving Stan an anxious edge that had his blood pumping a little quicker. Every time the chorus struck, the crowd got a little more hyper and there was a surge coming from the corners that gave the middle of the room even less space. There could have been people moshing by the outer edges, sometimes Kenny had been known to do so for the hell of it. Regardless, Stan was sprung into Craig and stuck there with no breathing space until the people around him let up by a delayed reaction and he could move away a few inches.

As the music seemed to heighten itself, Stan could feel that otherworldly quality egg on his motions until he was back up right against Craig, leg having nowhere to go but fit between Craig's. With the kids to his right pushing him without choice into Craig's chest and the left doing the same, the kids behind Craig helping as well, Stan had to fit his chin into Craig's neck to avoid either head banging with it hard enough to get a concussion or kissing him. Luckily, Craig was about two inches taller and only brought his head down on Stan's level after his head was already there, so Craig's chin rested on Stan's head. A few seconds later, there had to be people moshing because everyone surrounding him was suddenly everywhere at once. There were people's asses against his side, against his own ass. There was hair overflowing onto his shoulders and hands accidentally hitting his back and neck, their fingers digging into his shirt so they didn't trip over themselves and end up trampled on. Craig had to grab Stan's back to not get sent over and there were feet pushing Stan's closer to Craig until their legs were firmly pressed together and Stan had to dance in order to not be crushed. He moved the same way everyone else moved, shoulders hunched in towards Craig's while Craig had his hands linked around Stan's neck, elbows at Stan's shoulders, trying not to poke anyone's eye out with his them. When the chorus struck and Stan had no choice but to be thrown against Craig even further, he accidentally opened his mouth in surprise and bit Craig's neck. In response to the crowd surging in on Craig's back, he quickly roped Stan's head in closer so he didn't elbow anyone, Stan having to keep his arms close to Craig's waist because of the amount of people coming in closer. Maybe there were people from the backyard coming in to join the party.

The night was sweeping over them and everyone's body shape became less person and more shadow even as they pressed against Stan, all elbows and knees and feet coming in to trip him up if he didn't keep focus. But it was hard to with Craig's mouth on Stan's head and his arms firmly wrapped around his neck to keep him from getting knocked out. The alcohol must have really been hitting Craig, because he was starting to care less about personal boundaries and his own safety in order to focus on Stan's hips. The kids behind knocked Stan into Craig, pushing his hips up into Stan's and Stan would be lying if he said it didn't do anything for him. He licked his lips anxiously into Craig's neck and got Craig's skin wet, although he could barely see anything in the dark. Craig brought his hands down from Stan's neck to his hips and Stan couldn't do any different with everyone pushing him closer and closer until Stan couldn't see Craig's neck at all anymore, only knowing his mouth was against it because of the feeling.

He brought his head up to find out if there was enough light coming from the kitchen to give the ceiling a glow that would let him see if Craig was alright. Bringing his head up, Stan felt Craig's lips accidentally shift from his head to his forehead. The chorus shook the room so loud the floor itself seemed to be shaking, shifting Stan's feet up against Craig's, his leg still between Craig's. Stan felt an almost outer body experience shifting his hips purposefully into Craig's, keeping his head tilted down so Craig's mouth was still high enough to be at Stan's forehead, but not low enough to be anywhere too dangerous. Craig's breath filtered through Stan's senses, especially in the dark, and he smelt alcohol easily. With Craig circling his hips back into Stan's and his forehead pressed against the top of Stan's head as he did, Stan bit his lip and felt his skin crawling as he slid himself close enough to bite Craig's neck again without seeming like an accident. Stan could hear Craig growl only barely with the music so loud, Craig tightening his grip onto Stan's hips until Stan was writhing like a cat in heat. He licked up some sweat on Craig's neck and kept himself pressed close, circling his hips and biting Craig's shoulder. He came with Craig's breath hot at his ear, his own teeth pressed into Craig's bare shoulder. He waited to feel dirty and disgusting, the sweat at his neck seeming to drip down his back, but Craig wasn't having it.

The room was almost pitch black by now, everyone still appearing to be shadows with heat coming off them in waves. The crowd surged in again and Craig took his warm hand off of Stan's hip. Stan feared Craig would try to flee, even with the crowd circling them, but he didn't. With everyone pressing themselves and their fingernails into Stan's back and Craig's as well, Craig took Stan's chin in his hand in the dark and kissed him hard, face sweltering near his. Stan slid his tongue into Craig's hot mouth and felt shivers roll down his spine, sweat collecting there while his arms were still slid around Craig's waist. Trying to swallow them whole, all the shadows of heat and sweat clamped up around them. Stan didn't want to escape, letting Craig's teeth knock into his while he kept his hand securely on Stan's neck, right below his ear. When Stan pulled back to breathe, he let his forehead rest against Craig's sweaty cheek and looped three fingers into Craig's belt loop. He didn't want to leave this space or this room for the rest of his life. Even at it's best, the blaring music and the surge of the crowd had never made him feel this alive. Craig pressed his mouth softly to Stan's cheek and the shadows ate them whole.

Once the song had ended and there were less people moshing and more heading toward the kitchen to quench themselves, Stan was feeling even less all there and more and more like someone else with no reservations and nothing at all to be scared of. He was dragging Craig upstairs by his belt, trying to face Craig all the while, but tripping multiple times. Then, they got to the end of the hallway upstairs and they opened the door. The room was dark, but there was a small night light left on in the closet, the door to the closet itself left wide open. They neglected the bed - it had to be Bebe's because it had a pink and green quilt - for the closet floor. There were extra blankets there on a shelf behind Bebe's hanging clothes, which were fortunately high enough to not hit them if they sat.

Pulling down the blankets and spreading them out beneath them, Stan and Craig laid down feeling limbless and hot. Everything seemed to be happening slowly - like time had stopped or at least begun to lag - and Stan got himself under Craig without realizing it fully. He assumed Craig was equally as tipsy as he was regardless of the fact that Stan had drank more, because Craig had been high earlier and also had a lower tolerance for booze. Craig's body temperature was hot on Stan's skin, even though they both had tee shirts on.

Their bodies' weren't moving, Craig just letting himself rest languidly on top of Stan, his elbows holding him up enough to not hurt Stan. Stan opened his mouth wide for Craig's tongue and they kissed for ages - never taking a break, but also taking their time. Since time felt slow and Stan felt his mind working slowly to try and keep up, he felt no reason to kiss Craig any faster than he had to. Craig kept his hand clutched at Stan's shirt in a loose fist, but didn't try to take off his shirt or his jeans. Exploring the roof of Stan's mouth, Craig sighed deeply and Stan let his hands rest on Craig's forearms. Stan's body still wanted it, but his mind was too foggy to keep up and he fell asleep with Craig, on top of Bebe's blankets on the closet floor. Craig shut the door carefully before he collapsed, his nose nudged against Stan's shoulder, his legs overlapping with Stan's.

* * *

><p>The next morning Stan woke up feeling cold, his head pounding already. He groaned and opened his eyes slowly, feeling someone's head next to his. The first thing he saw were teeth marks on a set of collarbones. Looking up higher, he saw that it was Craig and therefore his own teeth marks on Craig's pale shoulder and neck. The inside of Bebe's closet was still dark, regardless of what time it was, because the door was shut solidly and there were no windows. He quietly sat himself up, trying not to wake Craig up, to see if he could open the door slightly without making any noise. He wanted to see if Bebe was in the room and if it was bright enough to be an acceptable time to go home and resume sleeping, but the door was squeaky and Craig mumbled something, half asleep. Stan took down another extra blanket from the shelf, the last one, and threw it over himself and Craig before he decided he didn't care what time it was. He only wanted to sleep and he definitely didn't want to have to deal with the events of the previous night. He rolled over so that he was facing Craig and tucked his head into Craig's neck, eyes shutting and letting himself duck back out of consciousness, feeling moronic for getting so close to Craig when they'd both probably freak themselves out later about last night.<p>

The next time Stan woke up, it was to a banging on the closet door. Someone was yelling, but it was too far away to hear. Stan squeezed his eyes shut, realizing he couldn't see with them open eyes still because he'd buried his head under Craig's chin. The door burst open and light flooded the closet with it, waking Craig up.

"That's adorable," Kenny remarked before reaching down and tugging at Stan's shirt sleeve to wake him up. "Sleep at home, Bebe's kicking everyone out but Clyde."

"What time is it?" Stan asked, rubbing his eyes with the side of his hands, trying to will himself awake.

"Noon. She let a lot of people chill longer than usual cause of all the puke last night."

"Christ, don't talk about puke." Craig was awake then, stretching out his arms half-heartedly.

"Nice bite marks, Tucker." Kenny grinned. "We'll be downstairs ready to leave after complementary breakfast." He left the closet door open, but shut Bebe's bedroom one for some unknown reason.

When Stan looked over at Craig, he was examining his shoulder. "Shit, I do have bite marks."

Stan grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Nah, it was hot at the time." Craig fortunately had his back turned as he stood up and reached towards the end of the closet to put his boots back on. Stan grinned while Craig remained turned away from him, but was too surprised to comment on the subject further.

"So, complementary breakfast?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, sounds good."

Downstairs everyone was sitting in bar stools eating waffles or toast. Kyle and Kenny were sharing a plate of waffles, syrup all over Kenny's chin. Kyle stared at him grinning, but said nothing, taking a sip of orange juice. Bebe and Clyde were next to Kenny, both taking small bites of toast. Stan thought back to Kenny's comment about puking and figured it'd been the classic domino effect. Someone really plastered probably puked, sending three people hurling, sending five more near them to do more of the same. He supposed Bebe and Clyde had probably been either the ones to start the epidemic that probably went down when he was upstairs making out with Craig or had been within the first ten people to catch it. Bebe tossed down a small, white pill with her milk and winced as it went down. Next to Kyle was Wendy who looked no worse for the wear, though she'd barely drank anything the previous night. Her braids were coming undone from the top of her head down so that only the ends of her hair looked tame, twirling around a fork with her waffle. Cartman was beside her chewing through three waffles in one bite by stacking them. Stan sat down beside Cartman, Craig between him and Clyde. Craig and Clyde nodded toward each other good morning like trained assassins with completely serious expressions before Craig stuck a waffle on his plate sharply with a fork.

"Everyone else go home?" Stan asked.

"Token's waiting in the living room to bring Clyde home with Red," Kyle supplied as he buttered a piece of toast. Kenny nodded, mouth full of food, his arm around the back of Kyle's chair.

"No way," Bebe said. "Clyde, you have to help me clean up, you little shit." She dropped her toast and stared at him expectantly.

"Token and I are going to play basketball," Clyde whined, sounding like a little kid. She sighed heavily and stood up to throw away her crusts.

Wendy twisted around in her seat to face Bebe. "I'll stay."

"Are you sure, honey?" Bebe asked, leaning on the counter by the sink, looking exhausted.

She nodded. From beside her, Cartman nodded too. Kyle picked up on this and raised his eyebrows, the same thing Stan was doing. "I can stay too," Cartman declared.

"Really?" She asked, surprised. He grunted in agreement, wolfing down his last waffle.

"You wanna get coffee before we go home or just get back and sleep all day?" Stan asked Craig, taking his time with his waffle. Craig had his chin in his palm, thinking it over. His eyes were obviously drooping. "You look tired. We shouldn't have given you so much booze."

"Nah, it's fine," Craig promised. "Let's stop by Harbucks and then go home and if we're still tired we can nap until five."

"Oh, yeah. Do you think they'll care if we're hungover?" Stan asked, pouring some milk from a jug in the middle of the island. Their parents weren't getting back from their bed and breakfast stay until five that evening.

"They probably won't notice. Oh, and there's a Star Wars marathon on one of those premium channels we conned them into paying for at the same time."

"Oh, cool." Stan drank some of his milk, getting a little less tired and a little more able to ignore his headache as his day begun to sound better. Then, he remembered something and paused. "The seventies ones of the newer ones?"

"Seventies."

"Awesome."

Stan glanced up to check if there was any more toast out to see that everyone at the table was openly staring at them. "What?" He asked. "Is there something on my face?"

"You two are sure getting along better," Kyle noticed, frowning. Kenny chuckled beside him, staring down into their plate and trying to hold back a laugh. When Kyle turned to look at him in confusion, he masked the laugh by clearing his throat loudly.

Stan shrugged just as Craig did and they promptly turned to each other and snorted, then went back to eating. Wendy's eyes widened and she let her mouth drop open a little. Cartman was the only one who really noticed her reaction.


End file.
